#he's clean and fresh and new and he can sing again!!!

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures

18+ 3.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 1/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander is on top of the world. He can say or do whatever the fuck he wants, and the sycophants around him will bend over backwards to make his word law, with few notable exceptions.

He never expected you to be one of them. When you put him in his place after a workplace incident, he becomes fixated on the promise of a firm hand alongside a soft body.

It’s Thursday, which means Homelander is currently bored to tears less than ten minutes into Vought’s weekly digital marketing meeting. These monotonous discussions of percentages and trending graphics gradually begin to feel like a drill pushing slowly into each of his ears, but they’re a necessary evil if he wants to have input when it comes to his image.

He taps his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his chair. The tapping pauses, however, at the appearance of a new presenter.

You.

You’re a far cry from the dime a dozen jackass in a suit that had been presenting before you. He’s sure he hasn’t seen you before, which means you’re new. His gaze drifts from your round face to the sensible cut of your blouse, the garment buttoned nearly to your throat. Anything less would be considered lewd given the size of your breasts. He wets his lips absently, adjusting himself to sit a little straighter.

He’s completely lost track of what you’re talking about in favor of watching the way your hips sway each time you walk from one end of the board to the other, tactfully engaging each observer. You have a resonant voice, commanding attention without sounding harsh. With a rack like that, you must have to fight to have a word you say heard by anyone with even a passing interest in a good pair of tits.

Not that the cheap fabric of your bra is doing them any favors. Silk would be better. He’s always liked the shine of it. Softer, too. It wouldn’t scrape against your shirt the way he can hear that cotton blend you’re wearing is doing. 

Curious, he focuses his vision to peer through your blouse. Your undergarments are plain and sensible. Boring. Still, it elicits a distinct pang between his legs. His mouth waters slightly. Even from where he is, he can smell you, fresh and clean, slightly sweet smelling–like vanilla. Your clothes may be pedestrian but at least your perfume is nice.

Letting his gaze slide lower, he admires how the curves of your body flow into one another. He can tell just by looking at you how soft you would feel against him, under him. How good you would feel to grip and hold in place, sink into and lose himself in. Your voice has a soothing quality to it that lets him easily imagine you’re breathlessly singing his praises instead of rattling off bullet points in a presentation.

Fuck, he’s getting hard, his cock throbbing lightly against the cup of his suit. It’s the only thing that allows him to fantasize as freely as he does. The best part of it is that he’s fairly certain he can sense something warm and wet throbbing between your thick thighs.

He suspects he’s not the only one fantasizing.

The room is quiet for a second too long, and Homelander abruptly tunes back in to realize you’re staring directly at him, expectancy in your gaze. He pulls a blank, realizing he hasn’t processed anything you’ve said. “Say again?”

There’s a flicker of irritation in your eyes before you tightly school your expression back into polite professionalism. His lips slowly split into a devious smile that he consciously fine-tunes to be more neutral. How close you came to some sort of heated response was kind of… cute. It makes him want to give your proverbial pigtails another tug just to see what else he can evoke.

The thought of pulling your hair is good. The thought of you pulling his hair is better, though.

“I asked if you have any feedback for our campaign leading up to the premiere,” you say, though Homelander finds himself more interested in the flash of your tongue he gets as you run it along your teeth afterwards. Your temperature is up a notch, too. You must not be used to such direct attention from someone like him.

“Nope,” he says glibly, turning on one of his patented knock-out smiles. “Looks good to me.” At that, he pointedly looks you up and down, meeting your gaze with a quick wink. 

Judging by the slight tic at the corner of your mouth, you aren’t charmed by his response. Still, he waits in preemptive satisfaction for you to appease him by returning his smile.

You don’t.

Instead, you say nothing more than a terse “Wonderful,” the singular word barely passing for civil, let alone professional. You move on, and Homelander finds himself taken aback. You don’t meet his eye for the remainder of the presentation, and while that gives him plenty of opportunity to ogle you, it bothers him.

Towards the end of your time, he clears his throat. Everyone looks at him.

Everyone but you.

“Thanks so much for your time,” you say to the committee, smiling, finishing your piece with a small incline of your head. You go sit, and there’s a slightly awkward pause before the next presenter takes center stage.

Homelander sits in stunned silence. The idea that you, some fresh faced nobody, think you’re in any position to blow him off is laughable at best. Who cares if he didn’t pay attention to your little presentation? That’s not his job. You’re lucky he’s even here, lucky that someone like him would think to give you time out of his day.

By the time the meeting concludes, you haven’t spared him so much as a glance. Indignation builds hotly in his chest. He’s had more than enough of being snubbed lately. He’s not going to tolerate it from the likes of you.

You should be on your hands and knees begging for his attention.

He watches a handful of your peers congratulate you on your first presentation, though plenty of others cast him wary glances and decide not to approach you. They know better. They know who’s really in charge around here. Naturally, they all skitter away like roaches when he strides towards you.

“Not bad for your first presentation,” he tells you, his smile toned down into a thin, lopsided smirk.

You look around yourself, no doubt taking note of how the other little insects around you have scattered. Maybe now you’ll realize your mistake.

“Thank you, sir,” you say, your body angled slightly away from him, as if you’re ready to bolt at any second.

“Got a lot on my mind, though, so I don’t think I absorbed as much as I could have,” he says, laying on that boyish charm a little thicker than usual. “Would really appreciate it if you could stick around and run that by me one more time.”

Your gaze flickers away from him–he wishes you would stop doing that–to the others who’re filtering out of the room, slowly leaving the two of you behind. “As I said during the presentation, all the documents will be available online,” you say, finally looking back at him. You actually have the audacity to look annoyed that he’s talking to you.

“I don’t have a computer,” he replies, his own voice beginning to flatten.

“I’m sure someone in IT can help you with that,” you say, undeterred by his attempts to corner you. 

His smile tightens minutely. “Do you have some kind of problem with me?”

Your heart jumps. He finds satisfaction in that, at least.

“No, sir,” you say sharply, a barely discernible hitch in your voice. “What I have are deadlines. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to meet them.” With that, you manage to squeeze by him. Despite the steady confident tap of your shoes against the floor, your heart races rabbit-like in his ears.

He contemplates you as you go, momentarily stupefied by your flagrant disregard for him. You weren’t entirely unaffected by his presence, though. If you’d had less of an avenue for escape, would you have been so flippant? He continues to focus on the beat of your heart as your steps carry you further from him. It doesn’t slow. You’re still full of adrenaline, the scent of it lingering alongside your perfume. He inhales a slow, deep breath, the leather of his gloves creaking as he curls and uncurls his fist.

Homelander finds himself wondering what your agenda is, what makes you so desperate to break from the norm and catch his attention. It’s clear to him that’s what you want. Why else would you be so stubborn where anyone else would yield? He scoffs to himself. 

God, it’s so obvious in hindsight.

He has no doubt that your brazen attitude would shatter if he pressed in closer, if you felt the heat of his breath on your lips. He could part your soft thighs and paint the face of God on the ceiling above you with his tongue inside you. You couldn’t dismiss him so easily then, could you?

You’re so determined to be noticed that it’s almost pathetic. He shouldn’t reward this kind of behavior, and yet he feels strangely inclined to commend it. What you’ve done is brave in a way. Insolence and sycophants he can’t abide, but a touch of bravery? Well… That can be rewarded.

Your heart thunders in your ears as you make a beeline for your office. You can feel a terrible burn crawling up your chest and into your cheeks, the reality of what just happened finally allowed to sink in. You had spent all morning preparing yourself for presenting your work in front of not only your new peers at Vought, but in front of the world’s most prolific superhero. You were solid, you were ready.

Until you felt the gravity of his gaze on you. The weight of it made you stutter where you shouldn’t have, lose your train of thought mid-sentence. Every time you dared to look at him, he was looking at you like he was going to swallow you whole. Never have you felt more acutely aware of yourself than you did beneath his stare, feeling the way he was picking you apart as keenly as you would feel his hands undressing you.

It left you as furious as you are flustered.

That arrogant bastard!

You close the door behind you with a rough breath, closing your eyes. You can’t even sit, you have to pace your office instead, shaking your hands out as you walk. You know you weren’t imagining it. He confirmed as much for you when it took a solid eight seconds of silence for him to tear his gaze up from your chest, smiling as wickedly as any devil and caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar.

You couldn’t look him in the eye after that. It was humiliating to be reduced so thoroughly and obviously in front of your peers. Worst of all, he seemed damn pleased by it. 

Though that isn’t the only reason your heart is still racing. You’re not quite ready to address that yet. You’re fairly certain if you’d been forced to speak to him any more than you had, you would have said something that would cause you to lose your job. You just need space to breathe, to collect yourself, to–

There’s a brisk knock at your door. Great. What now?

“Just a m–” You’re stopped dead in your tracks by a familiar flash of red, white and blue as Homelander lets himself into your office, closing the door securely behind him. 

“Howdy,” he greets. He looks cartoonishly wide and brightly colored against the neutral colors of your office, even more larger than life than he’d seemed in the conference room. He has a smile that looks like it belongs in the mouth of a shark about to take a bite of you. It sets you off kilter completely–not that you’d been much on it to begin with.

You gawk a moment before managing to close your mouth. “Homelander,” you say, your voice curt in your own ears. You have no idea how to address him, still frazzled from not only the presentation, but your interaction that followed it. You should ask him what he needs. 

“What’re you doing here?” That came out ruder than you meant it to. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. Still, you’re trying to keep this job.

“Are you always this pleasant?” He asks, cocking his head slightly as he comes to a stop in front of you, his arms held behind his back beneath his swaying cape. “Or did I catch you on a bad day?”

Is he serious?

“Your conduct today was inappropriate,” you say flatly, settling your hands on your hips.

Homelander scoffs lightly. “Oh, relax. You gonna ‘#Metoo’ me over a wink? Christ, you’re done up tighter than that blouse of yours,” he says, his gaze dipping. A chill rolls up your spine as you watch his tongue roll along his teeth. He’s like an animal anticipating a meal.

Your jaw drops, cold shock settling in your gut alongside that blistering heat. Of all the things you had prepared yourself for before coming to Vought, Homelander being a misogynistic sex-pest hadn’t been on your list.

Well. Not the sex-pest part, anyways.

You point to your office door. “Get out.”

He blinks, zero comprehension in those deceptively charming baby blues. His smile turns incredulous. “I’m starting to think you don’t understand what’s happening here,” he says, his tone taking on a precarious edge. He lets out a breathy, mirthless laugh. “You know, most people in your position would be begging for my attention.”

There it is.

You suck a noise through your teeth, nodding slowly. "Oh, I understand exactly what’s happening here,” you say, shifting your weight like you’re winding up for a pitch. “I know you think you're special because you're famous, or a supe, or both. I know you think I should be grateful that you’d even look at someone like me, but you’re not special, and I’m not grateful. The reality of the matter is I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick–and I can get it without being humiliated at my job.”

The silence in the room is deafening. Homelander looks stupefied, but you decide that you’re not done.

“You're not blessing me by making entitled passes and crude remarks while I'm trying to work. You’re being a nuisance,” you say, your heart beating in your throat. “So please, would you kindly leave?” You ask, voice firm despite the friendlier nature of your phrasing.

Finally, Homelander is the one left gawking. He looks like a fish with the way his mouth keeps opening and closing, but it’s the dismissive, aborted little scoffs he makes in between that really sell his wounded bewilderment. You can see tension lurking just beneath the surface, an anger that skulks in the creak of his leather gloves.

Fear begins to creep up the back of your throat, burning like bile, but you hold steady as he seems to be deciding what he’s going to do with you. The longer the quiet stretches on, your focus entirely on the subtle spasms in his expression, the more sweat begins to prickle at the back of your neck. You refuse to fill the space, you refuse to back down.

For all his power, he’s still just a man.

Eventually, he swallows. “Okie-dokie,” he says, his tone unlike anything you expected. He sounds confused–a little dazed, even. He walks to the door, and after one hesitant look back at you, he leaves.

The door closes with a soft click that still makes you flinch, the sound of it loud in the silence of the room. You blink several times, the abruptness of his departure making the whole encounter feel like some sort of fever dream. 

What the fuck just happened?

You’re not special.

The impact of those words struck Homelander’s ears like a loud, painful ringing that follows him as he walks out of your office. He feels off balance, each step leaning slightly to the right.

It’s a ludicrous statement. Objectively wrong. Who in the fucking world could be more special than him? He’s a literal god, and you’re no one. A faceless, nameless cog in Vought’s mechanism that hoists him to the top of it all. That’s your job. To elevate him. Worship him.

Instead you spoke to him as if he were nothing. He could have cut you down where you stood for that. He could have put your head through your office window, snapped your neck, held your skull and burned your eyes out of–

He shakes his head sharply, swaying. He all but stumbles into the bathroom, surprising one of the worker drones washing their hands. “Get out,” Homelander says gruffly.

“Uh, sir–”

“Get the fuck out!” He snaps, startling the man so badly he immediately rushes off, fumbling with the door on his way out. Homelander slams it shut and lets out a ragged breath, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, then his temples as he paces the bathroom. His reflection taunts him from his peripheral vision.

He hasn’t been able to look himself in the eye since he snapped his Doppelganger’s neck while he knelt before him.

That’s what he wants from you, isn’t it? Mindless desperate praise and worship. Why, then, does the thought od it make his stomach churn so violently he can taste the burn of bile? He tugs compulsively at his suit collar, the press of it against his skin uncharacteristically hot and itchy.

“I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick.”

He shamefully palms himself through his suit, confusingly hard amidst a swirling turbulence of contradicting thoughts and feelings. He could be good for you, too, if you’d fucking let him. He knows he could make you crumble, take apart that carefully constructed demeanor of professionalism and make you see him for what he is. He can prove himself to you. He will prove that you’re wrong about him, and then you’ll show him the love respect he deserves.

Hurriedly, he unzips his pants. His eyelashes flutter as he shoves his hand into them, roughly grabbing hold of his cock. He braces his forearm against the bathroom door and lets his head drop forward, watching his crimson glove pump the leaking head of his dick. His mind bounces between scenarios. He imagines himself in your place, fully on display for you to ogle. He imagines you’re watching him even now, staring him down with that unaffected look of indifference, of irritation, of disgust.

He bites back a whine, gritting his teeth. He wants so badly to imagine his face buried in your soft tits while he fucks the plush space between your thighs, but he knows you won’t let him. Not right away. You’d make him earn it, wouldn’t you? You’d make him watch you please yourself before he ever got so much as a taste.

The glassiness in his eyes begins to sizzle, the moisture burning away as crimson light flares up in them. Would you laugh if you could see him now, or would you scold him for touching himself without your permission?

Homelander comes hard, tipping his head back with a loud moan as he paints the bathroom door with ribbon after ribbon of come. He barely manages not to blow a hole through the ceiling, the light of his eyes flaring and softening in time with each euphoric wave of release. He pants through it, head falling forward and thunking lightly against the door, resting there while he catches his breath.

“Fuck,” he exhales eventually, sighing. He wipes his hand on the wall and then carefully tucks himself back into his pants, his mind swirling hazily on the best high he’s had since…

Clearing his throat, he puts himself back together before leaving the bathroom. Clearly, the thing that he’s been missing is a challenge. 

Luckily for him, you’ve kindly volunteered yourself.

( chapter two )

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Pure as the Driven Snow || Tom Blyth x Singer!reader

Summary: You surprise Tom as you sing Pure as the Driven Snow at a concert that he watches.

Warnings: none :)

Wc: 678

Tom Blyth x singer!reader au masterlist

Divider by @pommecita

You’ve had the idea for quite a while now after watching the new Hunger Games with Tom. Rachel even thought it was a great idea as you practiced the song with her without Tom knowing.

You were at a concert in London, Tom slightly to the side of the crowd as he watches you like the supportive boyfriend he is. The crowd screamed the second you stepped on stage as you performed your songs with them, Tom singing along as he takes videos and photos of you.

Just as everyone thought the concert was going to end, Tom included, you speak up. “I have a little surprise for everyone,” You smile as you hear cheers, “I’m going to sing one final song,” You say as you grab your guitar.

You look directly at Tom as you start playing the tunes to the song as the crowd erupts in screams, immediately recognising the tune you were playing. Tom stood there stunned.

“Everyone’s born as clean as a whistle,” You sing into the mic as you close your eyes, really feeling the music. Tom’s eyes never left you. He watched with a smile during the entirety of the song as he couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man in the world.

“I’ve taken some hits, so no wonder I’m wary, It’s why, I need you,” You direct your gaze at Tom who looks at you with so much love in his eyes. Fans catch the interactions between the two lovers as they record it and take photos, going absolutely crazy. “You’re as pure as the driven snow,”

Tom takes a moment to feel his cheeks, they were hot as he smiles like a silly man at you. He had no idea that you were going to sing this at all. “This world goes blind when children are dying, I turn into dust but you never stop trying,”

You were an incredibly talented singer, everyone knew that. Your voice was perfection, perfect for this song as if it was made for you to sing. Your singing entranced everyone in the crowd, including Tom. “It’s why, I love you,” You once again direct your entire body towards Tom. “you’re as pure as the driven snow,”

You couldn’t help but slightly let out a laugh as you sing when Tom blows kisses at you. Fans caught this on camera as they screamed, finding the two of you so wholesome. The moment you finish the song, Tom wastes no time on running up on stage and sweeping you up from your feet, you giggle in pure bliss.

“I loved it,” He says in your ear over the loudness of the crowd. “I love you,” You take either side of his face in your hands as you stare at each other before he kisses you deeply. You almost got carried away until you remembered you had a crowd of hundreds watching the both of you.

~

“Tom, everyone knows how your girlfriend, Y/n Abrams sang one of the songs from the movie, Pure as the Driven Snow was it? At her latest concert, can you tell us a little more about it?” Tom rubs his jawline as a smile makes it to his face, the memory of you singing that song to him still fresh on his mind.

“Yes uh well first of all, caught me by surprise that’s for sure,” He chuckles. “I’m a lucky man, she made me fall even more in love with her if that is even possible,” He admits as the interviewer smiles at him.

“Made you fall in love with me even more?” Was the first thing you say when Tom picks up the call. You hear silence on the other end before you hear his laugh, making you smile. “It’s true what I said darling,” Tom huskily says as you play with the ring he gave you on your finger.

“When are you coming back home, I miss you,” Tom could hear the pout through your voice as he chuckles. “On my way home right now, sweetheart.”

[synthetickitsune]

Woozi (SVT) | Afterglow fluff | 0.6k | gn!reader warnings: mentions of previous sexual activities but nothing explicit

His eyes are so bright. It's not exactly a fresh observation but everything feels new, somehow. Maybe you're only still coming back to your senses. All of him is bright. And he's bright, inside and out. And it doesn't register in your brain that he can't read your thoughts and so your wide smile and fond eyes make no sense to him. 

"What is it?" Jihoon asks, one of his hands coming up to stroke your cheek. If he's bright, then you’re soft. He marvels at the long-known and yet somehow new revelation. He runs the very tips of his fingers up and down your cheek and the side of your face. You’d give into him so easily if he pressed, but he won’t. He feels each little dip and tiny scar and he's so glad you're you, and not some perfect doll playing at being human. He could touch you forever. And, like you, he too doesn't think to tell you. Maybe you'll be able to read it from the lift of the corners of his lips. 

"What is it?" you mirror and he laughs softly before pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips are so soft. His kiss makes you feel like you're glowing from the inside.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers against your lips, unashamed to tell you how he feels in the precious minutes when you’re covered by the blanket of serenity and satisfaction. 

“You too,” …but he remains bashful when it’s his turn to accept praise.

Reality threatens to burst your little bubble soon - you'll need to clean up. You're both sweaty, and the sheets are messy, and your bodies are messy too, but you want to stay like this forever - to simply float on a cloud with Jihoon by your side. His smile could chase storm clouds away. 

"Come closer," is what he says, but it's different words you hear and that you return by pressing a lingering kiss to the underside of his jaw as you cuddle up to him. You will yourself to ignore the drying bodily fluids on your skins. 

His arms are strong but gentle around you, and you let yourself feel small and vulnerable for a second. A rare treat that you both only allow yourself with each other. And even so you don’t usually get the courage to unless it’s in the moments like this. You breathe in deeply his scent, a hint of his cologne still present, just like he can faintly smell your shampoo in your hair.

There's no need to say anything more. Soon the endorphins will give way to the rest of what you can feel but until then, you want to bask in his warmth and the feeling of his nails scratching lightly along your spine. He, too, seems reluctant to even think about pulling away from your lips singing sweet praises into his ear, genuine reassurances that he'd usually shy away from. 

Right now, though, he's already naked and so are you, and you're so soft and pliant under his touch that he can show as much trust in you as you show him. What would be the point in hiding if you’ve already bared yourselves to each other completely?

Jihoon closes his eyes again and nuzzles further into your hair. You fit so well against his body, like with each embrace you’re molding yourself into him. It’s a nice thought, that you’d become the one who’s meant to be for each other. Without the intervention of fate, destiny, without supernatural ties and bonds. Just two humans loving each other, choosing each other for no other reason than love and trust.

It’s a foreign feeling. A scary one too. Do you feel scared like he does? Does it make your heart race just like his? He hugs you closer. Doubts are for later. For now he only needs to hold you.

[teddybeartoji]

彡 A THUNDERING FIRST

☆. contains: suguru geto x gn!reader; meet-cute, fluff, trigger warning for a sweaty suguru, double warning for a very flirty suguru!! mentions of teeth and biting bc yk i love that shit wc: 4k

reading in the park can be such a good way to spend the day – you get to hear the lovely little birds sing to each other, you can see the kids faceplant onto the ground and laugh it off, you can smile at passing dogs, you can feel the sun and you can feel the wind and for just a while – everything is good.

it's more windy today than it is sunny but that doesn't bother you too much. the gentle spring wind dances in the trees, swaying the tiny green leaves that are just beginning to grow. the ground is still wet from yesterday's rain but it's not too muddy. you're grateful for the shower anyway, excited for the fresh grass to rise from the soil, pretty flowers alongside it. everything smells good, too. the air is crisp and filled with new beginnings and laughter and now you feel yourself getting a little too poetic.

looking down at your book, you twirl your pen between your fingers as you try to bring your focus back to the words on the pages. okay, reading in the park can be a little distracting sometimes. but most of the time it's not that bad—

you raise your head from your lap when you hear the steady steps and it's weird because you've learned to not give your attention to every passerby.

but this isn't just some passerby. the soles of his feet dig into the ground as he approaches and something about him just pulls you to him. you only have a second to look at him before he passes but it's enough to peak your interest like nothing else.

a pair of dark grey shorts with some black underpants underneath them, a pair of surprisingly clean sneakers on his feet, a pair of black socks, a dark blue almost skin-tight jacket and a black cap are what pull on your ropes but the messy black bun that peeks from under the cap, the various piercings and the dark purple eyes are what tie the knot.

his phone is in a little make-shift bag that surrounds his very big and glorious bicep and he has earphones on. you've never been this observant with a stranger before.

right when he passes by you, his eyes flick down to yours for a fraction of a second and then he's already gone. steady pace and steady steps as he heads down the path in the park, leaving you longing behind him.

you shake your head and once again, try to focus back on your reading. but it's even harder now that you know a man like that is just jogging around the place. you eye him from a distance away, wiping his sweat as he passes another runner. you've never seen anyone run as gracefully as he does. you force your eyes from him and glue them to the pages that lay neglected in your lap.

around eleven minutes later, you hear him again. you just know it's him by the sound of his steps, by the sound of his shoes hitting the ground – you look up and find him already looking at you as he closes in on you. there's a slight flush to his face, beads of sweat rolling from his temple and he looks gorgeous. he gives you a small smile, a really fucking charming one, and jogs on, leaving you staring at him again.

he does glance back at you, though. when he's a minute away and just when the path turns back around, his eyes search for you over the field of trees. his lips pull into a smirk when your head raises toward him and you drop it the second your eyes meet from far away. cute.

another ten minutes have passed and you've reread the same page four times now. the thought of quitting on the book is heavy on your mind as you consider just focusing on the man instead. it feels silly – stealing glances at a random crush at a park but you can't help it. he has wooed you with just about nothing; you don't know nothing about him other than the facts that 1. he's ridiculously good-looking and 2. he's a really fucking good runner. the lap he seems to be doing is one of the biggest ones in the park and yet he seems to be completing it in record time. maybe it's those long legs of his?

you twist and twirl the pen again until it slips from you, rolling onto the ground. you curse under your breath and then you hear him again. scrambling from your spot, you hastily grab the pen – a little afraid to be in his way; scared to embarrass yourself in front of him.

he's a bit more flushed this time around, sweatier and sexier. he exudes confidence; like not the type to be an annoying fuck-boy but more of a dangerous one. the type to break your heart like it's nothing but a glass toy. but then he gives you another smile and the thoughts fades. his smile is soft and his eyes crinkle as he does so. he nods his head at you and you do it back – you reckon you're really getting somewhere here. is this flirting works?

you watch him run off and almost die when he glances over his shoulder to get another look at you. a blink and you would've missed it – a wolfish grin; wide and sharp, it merely flashes at you but when you squint your eyes to observe him closer, he's already too far again.

your heart is beating way too fast for a person that's literally sitting down and your hands feel clammy. damn. luckily, you have the wind to help you cool down as you try to think of a plan to get his attention. you'd offer him water but that's a bit too far from a complete stranger. you'd ask him— what would you ask him? how's the run? no, that's bad. how's the weather? horrible. what kind of music are you listening to? c'mon, you can do better than that. come here often? awful, just awful. you decide that you won't say anything – stopping his run for some small talk would just be awkward and you'd rather just keep looking at him. that's the safe bet, that's what you'll do.

he's back. he's on his fourth lap and he doesn't seem to be stopping any time soon. all self-respect has gone with the dancing wind as you blankly stare at the handsome stranger. the tips of his ears have grown red too and he's really panting now. he's just so— he slows down. his steps falter a few feet from you and your eyes widen. well, you didn't really consider the possibility of him starting the conversation. you check the name of your book to make sure you won't make a complete fool of yourself and repeat your own name in your head. there's no room to fuck up with a guy like him.

he glances down at his feet and your eyes follow. oh... his laces are undone. that's... disappointing. you're about to curse yourself for even thinking that he'd actually wanna talk to you but his silky smooth voice breaks your little bubble.

"may i?" his slender finger is pointing the bench your sitting on and you can't to open your mouth, humming an reply instead. his posture is extraordinaly as he walks to you and plops down a bit too close for a stranger (you most definitely do not mind).

it's quiet for a moment before he speaks up again. "what are you reading?"

you quietly thank yourself for checking the name and introduce it to the man beside you. even as he's tying his shoelaces, he has a strong presence. he keeps glancing at you from the corner of his eye, letting you know that he is in fact listening to you. when he's done he leans back against the bench and sprawls out his arms on the backrest; one of his is dangerously close to your shoulder but he'd never make that move this early. he just wants to make clear that he is as interested as you are. he lets his legs spread out a little wider, situating himself a bit more comfortably on the wooden bench and you stealthily pinch yourself for stealing a look at his strong thighs.

"you know, i thought about what to say but i couldn't come up with anything good... 'how's the run?' is pretty stupid, isn't it?" you ramble as you feel yourself melt under his gaze.

"you thought about what to say?"

...

"i– "

your head falls down to your chest as your whole body heats up – now you're actually afraid of melting away. you hide your burning face in your palms and you sigh. so much for not embarrasing yourself, huh? he in turn, lets his head fall back as he grins up at the sky. his lip piercing shines under the greyish light and his eyes fall shut as he basks in your flustered state.

when he feels like your cuteness meter is just about full - he lets you off the hook. "that's really sweet of you."

peeking from between your fingers, you look at him. his eyes peer from underneath his cap, and in a way, it's really adorable how you're both hiding your eyes from each other. maybe not even hiding, but just, sheltering them. gauging when to finally drop the act and let yourselves stare at each other freely just the way you actually want to.

"not totally embarrassing?" you joke, forcing down the nervousness and letting a smile sprout on your lips instead.

"not at all." he assures with his saccharine voice. you almost believe him.

"it's never a bad thing to be prepared." you've known him for mere minutes but you know he's teasing. the tease is smoothly hidden in his charismatic tone but it's there nonetheless. a bead of sweat rolls from his temple and he wipes it with the back of his hand.

you bite the inside of your cheek as you drop your hands but avert your gaze, turning to the trees for a boost of strength.

he'd never admit it but... he too had to think of a way. he too thought that it'd be too weird to just ask about your book – he had to think of a way to break the first barrier. so, he untied his laced before he reached you. but that's a secret.

"suguru."

you whip your head your back to him, surprised by his little introduction. you repeat his name out loud and it tastes like honey, the syllables falling from your lips like a sweet goo. he does the same with yours and you swear you've never heard anyone say it the way he just did. there's a purr to his voice, coming from deep inside his chest - each letter is given so much thought and care. accompanied by the determined look in his eyes – you're just grateful you're already sitting down; he has your knees feeling weak, the muscles in your body tensing as he shifts just a little closer. barely an inch but it's enough to speed up your heart even more, enough for your body temperature to be reaching a new high.

his hand reaches over and you follow it in slow motion; you can hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears as his fingertips graze your cheek. heat blooms from the touch and you feel like you're about to burst into a thousand little butterflies.

"you got a little something here..."

he takes notice of the warmth even though the contact lasted a fraction of a second – he's as observant as ever. his foxy eyes twinkle with a dose of smugness, a certain heat running through his body at the effects he seems to have on you.

pulling his hand back, he displays the single eyelash he just caught on his pointer finger right in front of your face. "c'mon, make a wish."

he watches your eyes flick from his finger to his eyes and then back down, he watches your brain work out your silly little wish. he thinks about what his would be and wonders whether you'd want the same.

you inhale sharply before blowing on his finger, letting the eyelash take flight and disappear with the wind. smiles bloom on your faces – the childish act bonding the two strangers forever.

"the run was good, by the way." he rests his hand back behind your shoulders, making you subconsciously lean closer. "the weather is good; i like this better. hard to focus when the sun is bearing down on you."

you nod your head, utterly bewitched by the man before you, and he knows it too. "'though it's hard to focus when i have you sitting here, too."

he has you hooked and he won't let you go. your eyes widen as his bore into you, absolutely feeding off of your every reaction.

"oh, you're killing me..."

"am i? i'm sorry for that, sweetheart."

you can't keep the groan that bubbles from the depths of your throat as you double over, hiding your face in your hands again. his quiet laughter rumbles through his chest and when you swear that when you raise your head, a singular sunray shines from behind the clouds. it lights up his smile, his eyes crinkling in the process. wow.

"when are you gonna come here again?"

there's no time to waste – you have to shoot your shot. you have to.

he lets the laughter die slowly, impressed by your sudden burst of confidence. "tomorrow."

"you run every day?" his ego grows in size at the surpised tone and he nods. "wait, how come i've never seen you before then?"

"maybe you were actually reading your book all those other times, hm?"

your heart does a little flip in your chest and you bite down into the soft flesh of your lip. he's sooooooooo...

he adjusts his hips on the bench and catches you looking. he's tempted to make another tease but—

"i would've definitely seen you if you were here. you're kind of hard to miss. very hard to miss actually."

he hides his reaction with a deep hum, infatuated with the fact that you can keep up with him so well despite your flustered state. "i just recently moved here, so... it'd actually be very nice to have somebody to show me around. the coffee would obviously be my treat, you know, if you're down for it, if you want to be that person for me."

his offer almost flies over your foggy head but his last words sink their claws into you at the last minute. the butterflies in your stomach are making you feel sick, a giddy nervousness swimming in your veins.

"i'd love to be that person for you." you nod your head, gluing your eyes to his as the final push to show you that you're as interested as he is. as if that wasn't clear enough already. "mainly for the the free coffee, though."

"right... right..." one of the corners of his lips is crooked upward and he looks so good. he looks like he bites, like he would sink his teeth into you so, oh, so gently and then lick the wound to make you all better again. you're really in it now.

unbeknownst to you – the sky has turned a shade darker, grey clouds now swarming the entirety of the field of blue above you and suddenly you feel a cold drop on your warm skin. and then another. and another. craning your neck up, you take in the foggy ceiling as the rain starts to soak your clothes.

you scramble to pack your bag, throwing your precious book in there before frantically looking for your pen only to have suguru hand it to you with a smile. "here."

"thank you."

you don't want to go. he doesn't want to go. the strap of your bag sits on your shoulder, the soles of your feet dig into the ground but nothing. you chew on your cheek and he picks at his fingernails – neither of you ready to part with each other just yet.

but thunder booms, yanking yourselves out of it. reminding that this chapter is only beginning and that the first page is always the shortest one anyway.

"you're gonna get a cold like this..."

"like what?" the water droplets cascade down his neck as he leans closer.

"oh, i don't know... sweaty and hot? what if the wind and the rain get to you and i don't get to have my free coffee, hm?"

he does want to bite you. his canines bite into his bottom lip as he observes you. how you're completely unfazed by the rain, how your confidence is clearly growing as you tempt him with your words.

"the wind and the rain have nothing on me, angel. i'd kill to get you that coffee." lightning strikes as his words fall from his tainted lips and he can't tear his eyes from you.

finally, he pushes himself off the bench and you watch him stretch his whole body like a big cat. an inch of skin shows itself from below his jacket, his happy trail making your eyes bulge before you clear your throat with a quiet cough and push yourself up aswell. making sure you have everything, you check your bag and your pockets and turn to him, only to find him already staring down at you. he's tall. he looked tall before too... but now that you're standing next to him – he's really fucking tall. and he seems to be thinking the same thing as he takes the oppurtunity to assert a little dominance by closing the distance between you.

"and maybe the rain will do you some good too... maybe it'll help you cool off, yeah?" there it is again – hidden by a tone of genuine advice – the tease. it slips from his curved lips with ease, with too much ease, and you hate that you can't even argue with him. you burn under his eyes and the rain is seemingly the only thing that's keeping you alive at this point.

"i think you should buy me so many coffees." you sigh, clutching onto your bag strap. he's towering over you, so you need just about anything and everything to keep your composure.

"yeah? what for?" he laughs. god, you love his laugh.

"for putting up with your teasing. i think i deserve a reward, honestly."

it looks like a scene out of a romantic little movie – the two lovers standing in the storm; fingers twitching beside their bodies, gazes lingering on each other for longer than they should. nobody would guess that this is your first meeting.

"terrible manners, by the way. i can't believe i'm still talking to you." you give him another sigh, albeit an overly dramatic one this time.

suguru hasn't been this beguiled since... ever probably. yes, his friends tend to give him snarky comments like this but it's entirely different coming from you. it gets his heart pumping like nothing else – the rush from the run has nothing on you.

"oh, my deepest apologies, your highness. shall i kiss thy hand before we part?"

his little bit coaxes out a loud cackle – his chest swells at the sweet melody, getting addicted already.

"yes! yes, i think you should do that, kind sir." your cheeks hurt from smiling when you hold your hand out for him, testing whether he'd actually do it.

(he's forcing down a full-body reaction at you calling him sir.)

suguru is not a man to back down and you're about to learn all about it. the thunder rumbles loudly, echoing through the park he takes your smaller hand into his bigger ones, raising it to his mouth. his purple eyes twinkle at you and your breaths are getting shorter and shorter. his lips graze your wet skin before he's fully pressing them against you, all while keeping eye contact with you.

a shiver runs up your back and you're about to pass out. or throw up. or die. something is happening to you and he's the sole reason behind it.

he lowers your hand and offers you another dangerous grin; his sharp teeth glint from behind his pretty lips as the lighting flashes again and you gulp.

"don't die on me now."

...

your jaw drops and you place your hands on your hips, tilting your chin up to show your 'annoyance'. "exactly what was the point of the kiss, if you plan on continuing your little act, hm, suguru?"

"the point is to get to kiss you again."

..................................

oh.

this stranger will be the death of you. your whole body flushes again, your own built up cockiness fades away, leaving you small and shivering before him. the perfect prey ready for picking.

"not today though. can't have the highness grow too big, now can i? but perhaps next time? over that promised coffee?" his voice is sticky and sweet, meant as a trap to catch little doves like you.

you squeak out a mhmm as he's already getting his phone from his little bag.

by now, you're both absolutely soaked. the spring thunder cleans you from the groggy winter feelings and thoughts and gives life to... whatever this is going to bloom into.

you exchange your socials, giggling at how the screens refuse to cooperate under the rain but you get it done nonetheless.

"please, don't get sick."

"if i do, you'd nurse me back to health though, wouldn't you?"

you slap his chest, unable to bear the teasing little remarks any longer. his charisma knows no bounds and it's 100% not what you expected him to be like. maybe you should've – the eyes betray him.

"probably, yeah. nurse you from this horrendeous act. where are you learning it from anyway? some terrible love coach?" you scoff.

"something like that yeah." he trails off, once again hypnotized by the way your wet eyelashes shine when you blink up at him.

"okay-okay, we have to stop this now or we'll both get sick." you shake your head, physically trying to remove every thought of him that has been swimming in your head for the past hour or so. he hums as a reply. he fixes the cap on his head and awaits for you to make the first move.

it's taking everything in you to do so – it's almost as if you're glued there, right in front of him and it just feels right. his voice is right, his words are right, his eyes are right, his lips, his teases; but when the thunder booms again, you know it in your guts that he's gonna be in your life for a long time.

this kind of turned into smth way different than i intended but i'm not mad hihihi

[seobinghard]

how to fix a broken heart in one day;

pairing: best friend!mingi x fem!reader ✫ wc: 1.5k ✫ genres: fluff, romcom, feel-good, non-idol!au, best friend!au ✫ warnings: none ✫ note: mingi's rich (duh). p1h's keeho mentioned ✫ synopsis: your failed situationship has left your heart shattered into pieces but lucky for you, mingi's good at fixing things.

when you told mingi you ended things with keeho last week, he hears angels sing; a celestial choir celebrating the demise of your situationship. is it evil of him, he thinks, to not feel sympathy for your situation? is it morally wrong that he even feels relief at the news of your failed romantic ventures? for it only means one thing; you're single again. and your broken heart? he'll be the one to fix it.

“mingi, you’re not listening to me. i just told you we broke up,” you bite back a sob, grabbing another tissue from the half-empty box on the coffee table.

‘how to lose a guy in ten days’ plays faintly on the your living room tv, volume on low. 

“oh, come here, you big crybaby” mingi coos, opening his arms for you. you're finally mine.

sniffling, you crawl into your best friend’s arms and sink into his embrace, basking in the warmth of his body and the familiar scent of his laundry softener mixed with his cologne; fresh rain and green tea; clean and woody. mingi wraps his arms around you like you’re his most prized possession, his hold gentle and firm. there’s a heartbeat against you, a steady rhythm only you can hear through the wool of his grey sweater. for a while, the morning feels less cold and the world far away.

mingi sighs, placing his chin on your head. “you know, for a situationship that only lasted two weeks, do you think you're over-reacting?”

you pull away. “are you calling me dramatic?” 

“i thought you said he's a walking red flag?"

“but you see, that's the thing about me. i'm kinda blind, mings,” you sniffle, burying your face in mingi’s chest, “and he just has go and break my heart like that.”

mingi feels his chest tighten at your muffled sobs. does he think you’re overreacting? maybe. but above all else, he hates to see you like this; blue and hopeless. you’re his sparkle bubble and some keeho guy came and popped it. what’s so special about this mf anyway, mingi thinks. sure, he’s very good-looking and successful, but can keeho make you laugh like he can? can keeho list the big three signs in your birth chart? does keeho know your gp's name off the top of his head? as if.

no one knows you better than him. and if no one loves you, mingi's dead. 

“hey," mingi mutters, “you wanna go shopping?”

your eyes light up like the lights on christmas day. “now?”

“get dressed, we’ll leave in thirty."

if you were crying over a man an hour ago, that wasn't you.

mingi watches you with a smile as you bounce through sephora with stars in your eyes. he trails closely by your side, a mini basket in his right hand, his left—a canvas for your shade swipes. dior, rare beauty, two-faced; he's got it all on his skin.

"oh my god, they restocked my favourite shade, mingi!" you bounce in joy, holding up the mac lip liner.

"anything you want," mingi smirks coolly.

"for real?"

"did i stutter?"

say less.

cha-ching! two-hundred and ten dollars at sephora. a hundred and ten dollars at aesop. thirteen dollars at crumbl cookie. seventeen-hundred fifty at acne studios. seventy-nine dollars, eighteen cents at barney's. twenty dollars at heytea. fifteen-hundred and ninety dollars at miu miu.

you thought you might've murdered mingi's credit card at this point but he only gives your hair a cute lil ruffle and says, "let's go have a look at the bracelets in tiffany."

you may be clueless but one thing you know for sure is; you don't just buy tiffany for anyone.

"y/n, come here," mingi calls.

there's a foreign tenderness in his voice when he says your name and it makes your heart flutter in anticipation. you've never felt like this about your best friend before.

as you make your way to mingi, you can't help but notice his height, towering over everyone else in the store, broad shoulders visible beneath the fitted black shirt he's wearing. his jet black hair is effortlessly swept back, rimless glasses—the ones he wears while gaming—perched his nose. he balances all your shopping bags in one hand, the other beckoning you to come over. you spot the chrome hearts ring you gifted him for his twenty-third birthday on his middle finger, and your heart skips a beat. rose-pink dusts your cheeks like the first cherry blossom of spring. has mingi always looked this good?

you're starting to wonder, maybe your heart isn't broken to begin with. maybe it's been crying out for attention from the wrong person, when, all along it should've been calling out to...mingi.

oh my god.

the world blurs, and you feel dizzy. mingi's speaking to you but his words only drift around you like smoke, your mind a storm of thoughts. it's only when his hand brushes against your waist that you're hauled back to reality.

"y/n, you alright?" mingi asks, concerned.

his hand is still on your waist. you're about to combust.

"miss, would you like to try it on?"

the sales assistant brings out a bracelet on a turquoise tray. it's a return to tiffany heart bracelet; the one you've always wanted since you were little.

you gasp in awe, "it's so pretty."

you're prettier, mingi thinks. especially when you're your truest self.

"you like it?" he asks.

you nod, smiling, "i do."

your smile. fuck. he wouldn't trade anything in the world for the ability to make you smile like that. money isn't an issue. and if it ever becomes an issue, he's got two kidneys for a reason.

when night falls and it's just the two of you in his car, you finally muster up the courage to ask, "mingi, what are we doing?"

your best friend chuckles, "what do you mean?"

"i know we're best friends but why are you doing all this for me?"

mingi almost chokes on his spit but manages to play it cool, "'cause you're my homeboy, duh. what kinda stupid question is that?"

"mingi, you don't just buy someone a tiffany bracelet," you comment calmly.

you notice the faintest tension in his jaw. mingi is quiet, his focus fixed on the road ahead, the familiar route back to your apartment just five minutes away. silence hangs in the air, thick with unspoken thoughts. you're glad you live downtown because if you had stayed in an enclosed space any longer with mingi, you don't know what you would've done.

mingi stops outside your apartment building and shifts the car into park.

you take this as a sign to leave, unbuckling your seatbelt. "i'll see you—"

"y/n, wait."

mingi swiftly takes off his glasses and pulls you in for a kiss. you blink, swept away by the sudden contact of his lips against yours—soft and sweet like a midsummer's dream. you can hear your heart pounding in your ears as he slowly pulls away, his chest heaving, breath mingling with yours. warmth floods through you in a million butterflies, pooling in your stomach as you regain your breath. the surprise in your eyes mirrors his as you both process what just happened.

"i didn't want it to be like this," mingi finally breaks the silence. his voice is husky, face flushed, eyes wide and glossy like brown boba pearls. "fuck."

your heart is about to leap out of your chest.

mingi takes your hand in his. "y/n, i know it's selfish of me to tell you this now and you can say 'no' anytime if you feel uncomfortable—"

"mingi, please," you whimper. you think you know what he's going to say and it's driving you insane.

"i love you," mingi confesses, his words weighted with confidence and truth. his gaze holds yours as if searching for a four-syllable answer to his sacred declaration.

"like in a homeboy way?"

mingi's face shatters. "are you really asking me this right now? really, y/n?"

"i'm joking!" you burst into fits of giggles before placing a kiss on his cheek. "i think i really, really like you too, mingi bunny!"

though you can't see it, mingi is over the moon at your answer—he'll take 'i really, really like you' any day and pray for the best that one day, 'like' becomes 'love'. but until then, he's fully content to just be in your presence. he's waited this long, what's a few more weeks, month, or years, going to do to him?

"sooooo, can we make out?"

"mingi, get the bags."

"yes, my love."

[whereforarthur]

Wedding Day Bliss~

Request: I had this idea if a wedding day. Like the whole wedding day leading up to the end of the night. Like the saying their vows and it being really emotional and George tearing up when she is walking down the aisle and the reception and all their friends and family watching them be so in love. Also their first dance as husband and wife I think would be so cute then sharing kisses and just being in their own bubble with George’s friends making speeches.

Pairing: George Clarkey x reader

Rating: PG-13

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 3.3k

*****

"The best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly who you are: good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you. The right person is still going to think the sun shines out of your ass. That's the kind of person that's worth sticking with." —Juno

"You okay, mate?" Arthur's voice cut through the early morning chill as George stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His hand hovered over the shaving cream, his eyes bloodshot from last night's festivities.

"Yeah, just trying to remember what year it is," George joked, rubbing his hand over his unshaven face. The wedding was in a few hours, and the nerves were starting to set in. He had never felt so alive, so ready to embark on a new chapter with the love of his life. Yet, the gravity of the promise he was about to make weighed on him like the hangover he was pretending not to have.

The house was buzzing with activity, the air thick with excitement and anticipation. The smell of fresh flowers wafted in from the open windows, mingling with the faint scent of his mother's famous breakfast spread. He could hear the distant chatter of the bridesmaids, the occasional burst of laughter, and the clinking of champagne flutes as they toasted to the soon-to-be newlyweds. George took a deep breath and turned to face the day ahead.

When she reached him, George's hand trembled slightly as he took hers. The priest's words were a gentle hum in the background as they exchanged vows, their eyes never leaving each other's.

"Y/N," George began, his voice clear and steady despite the tumult of emotions churning within him. "Thank you for loving me, for understanding me, and for putting up with my friends. They're a wild bunch, but they're mine, and you've welcomed them into your heart without question." He paused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he thought of the countless nights spent cleaning up after their drunken escapades. "I promise to stand by you, to cherish you, and to laugh with you, even when they're singing off-key karaoke at three in the morning."

Each word felt like a promise etched into their very souls, a declaration that no matter what life threw at them, they would face it together. And as he slipped the ring onto her finger, he knew that he had made the right choice.

The congregation chuckled softly, and George felt a warmth spread through him. He took a deep breath and continued, "I vow to support you in your dreams, even if it means watching every cooking show on Netflix with you." He winked, remembering her passion for culinary mastery, which often resulted in kitchen disasters that only she found amusing. "To be your partner, your confidant, and your rock, as you are mine."

"And now," the priest announced, turning to Y/N, "it is your turn to speak your vows." She took a deep breath, her hand tightening around George's. Her voice was steady and sure as she began, "George, my love, from the moment I met you, I knew you were different. Your kindness, your humor, your unwavering loyalty—these are the traits that have made me fall in love with you over and over again."

The room grew still, captivated by her every word. "I promise to be your home, a place where you can always find comfort and peace. I vow to stand by your side, through every challenge and every victory, holding your hand through it all. I will laugh with you, cry with you, and maybe even dance with you when you're feeling particularly courageous."

Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, and George felt his cheeks warm at the thought of their many dance floor disasters. She went on, "I will cherish every moment we share, from the mundane to the magnificent, because each one is a gift that I never knew I needed until you gave it to me. I will love you fiercely, George, because you have shown me what it means to truly be loved."

The room was silent as the gravity of her words settled over the guests. The emotion in her voice was palpable, and George felt his heart swell with love for this incredible woman. He couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life making her as happy as she made him.

"You may now kiss the bride," the priest announced, breaking the spell. George leaned in, his heart racing, and kissed her softly. It was a kiss that spoke of their future together, a gentle promise of love and protection. The congregation erupted in applause and cheers, and the organist began to play the wedding march.

They walked back down the aisle, hand in hand, smiling at their friends and family. The warmth of their union seemed to radiate outwards, wrapping everyone in a blanket of joy. The light from the stained glass windows painted them in a rainbow of colors, as if the very walls of the church were celebrating with them.

*****

The reception was held in the manor's lush gardens, under a grand marquee that had been set up especially for the occasion. The air was filled with the sweet scent of roses and the sound of laughter. The guests were already mingling, eager to congratulate the newlyweds. As they stepped outside, George and Y/N were greeted by a shower of confetti, thrown by their exuberant friends and relatives. It was like stepping into a whirlwind of love and good wishes.

Throughout the evening, George couldn't help but steal glances at his bride, her smile never fading, her eyes always sparkling. They danced, they talked, they laughed, and with every shared moment, he felt his heart swell with love. The speeches from his friends were equal parts embarrassing and endearing, each one reminding him of the incredible journey that had led them here.

But it was Arthur's speech that truly stole the show. He took the microphone with a grin that was a mix of mischief and affection, his eyes twinkling as he began to recount their escapades from over the years. The room grew quieter, anticipating the tales that were about to unfold.

"Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends," Arthur started, his voice carrying over the clinking of silverware and the gentle hum of conversation. "I stand before you today, not just as George's best man, but as his confidant, his wingman, and occasionally his designated driver." The crowd chuckled, setting the tone for the heartfelt roast that was to come.

"Now, I've known George for what feels like an eternity," Arthur continued, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "We've been through it all—the good, the bad, and the questionably legal. And through it all, he's remained the same lovable, slightly disaster-prone man we all know and love."

The crowd chuckled, and George felt a warmth spread through him as Arthur winked at him. "But today, we're not just celebrating George and Y/N's love story," he said, his tone growing serious. "We're also saying goodbye to the bachelor days, the nights out that ended with pizza on the floor and George's head in the toilet." A collective groan echoed through the room, followed by laughter. "And Y/N, let me just say, you're a brave soul for taking him on. You're not just gaining a husband; you're inheriting a lifetime subscription to 'What the hell was I thinking?' magazine."

Arthur raised his glass, and the room fell silent. "But in all seriousness, George, I couldn't be happier for you. You've found someone who not only puts up with your terrible taste in music and your obsession with superheroes but also makes you a better man. And Y/N, you're not just stealing him from us; you're giving us back a George we haven't seen in a long time—one who's more at peace, more content, and dare I say it, more responsible."

The room erupted in laughter, and George couldn't help but feel a twinge of truth in Arthur's words. Y/N had indeed changed him for the better, bringing order to the chaos that was his life and filling his days with a warmth he hadn't realized he was missing. He looked over at her, her cheeks flushed with a blush that made her look even more radiant, and knew that every second of this new journey with her would be worth it.

As Arthur wrapped up his speech, the DJ took over. The air was electric with joy, and George found himself drawn to Y/N, ready for their first dance as husband and wife. The first dance was a slow, sweet melody that had been playing on the radio the first time they had kissed. As George held her in his arms, their bodies moving in perfect sync, he whispered into her ear, "Thank you for choosing me." Her eyes searched his, filled with a love so deep it seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. "I've always chosen you," she murmured back, her voice filled with a gentle certainty that washed over him like a warm summer rain.

*****

The evening passed in a blur of shared glances, whispered promises, and stolen kisses. The air was electric with love and happiness, and every moment felt like a precious memory in the making. As the night grew darker, the stars began to twinkle outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, echoing the sparkle in their eyes.

Their friends and family watched with smiles, some with misty eyes, as the couple moved in perfect harmony. The lyrics of the song spoke of a love that had withstood the test of time, a promise of forever, and George felt it resonate deep within him. He whispered sweet nothings into Y/N's ear, her cheek pressed against his chest, and she giggled, her happiness infectious.

He couldn't stop thinking about how lucky he was to have her, to call her his wife. Every few seconds, he'd lean down and press a gentle kiss to her forehead, her cheek, her lips—any part of her he could reach without breaking the rhythm of their dance. Her eyes would flutter closed with each touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and he knew she felt the same overwhelming love that he did.

A silent conversation of love and adoration that didn't need words to convey the depth of their feelings. The music swelled around them, a cocoon of sound that blocked out the world and left only the two of them, spinning and swaying to the beat of their hearts. The warmth of her body against his was a reassurance that she was real, that this wasn't just some beautiful dream he would wake up from.

From the sidelines, George's friends couldn't help but tease him. They had never seen him so lost in a moment, so utterly consumed by happiness. "Look at him," Chris murmured to Arthur Hill, his own partner in crime at past escapades. "He's gone soft."

Arthur Hill chuckled, raising his glass. "It's about time," he said, a hint of sentimentality in his voice. "He's been chasing that love bug for years. It's good to see him finally catch it."

Their banter grew louder, a playful jab here and there, but the affection behind their words was unmistakable. "You know, I never thought I'd see the day when George Clarkey would be this whipped," Arthur quipped, earning a playful glare from George.

Chris, Max, Arthur, and Arthur Hill had been the life of the party, charming the guests with their wit and camaraderie. They had been an integral part of George's life for years, and seeing them interact with Y/N and her friends was a delightful reminder of how intertwined their worlds had become. Their banter was light-hearted, their laughter infectious, and their love for the couple palpable.

As the night grew later and the music grew softer, the four friends—now bonded by more than just friendship—gathered around George and Y/N, raising their glasses in a toast. "To new beginnings," Arthur said, his voice a blend of joviality and sincerity. "May your love be as wild and unpredictable as our adventures, yet as steadfast as the foundation of this ancient city we call home."

Chris leaned in, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "And may you never run out of patience for each other," he added with a knowing smile, "because with us around, you're going to need it." The group erupted in laughter, the tension of the day giving way to the easy camaraderie that had carried them through so much.

"To Y/N," Max said, raising his glass higher, "for saving us from ever having to listen to George's dreadful dating stories again." The room buzzed with knowing chuckles, and George couldn't help but laugh along. The group's laughter grew as they reminisced about his infamous Hinge dates—stories of catfishing, awkward silences, and that one girl who had stood him up a record eight times.

Y/N leaned into George, her eyes shining with mirth. "But I'm the one who finally caught you," she whispered, her voice a gentle caress against his ear. "And I'm so happy I could be the one to save you from a life of swiping and ghosting."

Their friends' laughter grew, but George's gaze never left hers. "You didn't just save me," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "You gave me a reason to stop looking." He placed a tender kiss on her cheek, the warmth of his lips leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

As the music played on, George watched his wife dance with her father, her smile never fading, her eyes shimmering with happiness. The moment was so perfect it hurt. He felt a gentle pat on his shoulder and turned to see Arthur, a solemn look on his face. "You know, George," Arthur said, his voice barely above a whisper, "you're the luckiest man here."

George nodded, the weight of Arthur's words sinking in. "I know," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "I never thought I'd find someone who could handle all of this—me, us, the fans, the chaos. But she does. She's my sanity in a world gone mad."

*****

The night grew later, the music slower, and the room more intimate. The air was thick with the scent of happiness and the warmth of a love that had conquered all. As the final notes of their first dance played out, George leaned in to kiss his wife, the sweetness of their union echoing in the silence that followed. Their friends and family cheered, but the couple remained lost in their own little world, oblivious to the applause.

The reception wound down, and the photographer captured their love in a series of candid shots, the flashes of the camera a stark contrast to the soft glow of the candlelit room. They mingled with their guests, thanking them for their presence, sharing laughs, and receiving well-wishes that felt like warm embraces. Each moment was a treasure, a memory to hold onto forever.

The rest of the night passed in a whirlwind of dance, laughter, and love. Each moment with Y/N felt like a gift, a precious memory to be stored away and cherished for the rest of their lives. They shared dances with their parents, the joy in their faces reflecting the happiness of their children. They watched as their friends paired off, spinning and laughing, the music weaving a tapestry of memories that would bind them all together for years to come.

Y/N leaned into George, her arms wrapped around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for choosing me, for loving me, for saving me too."

George pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. "Saving you?" He cocked his head, a question in his eyes.

Y/N nodded, her smile softening. "From a life of questionable life choices and questionable haircuts," she teased, her thumb gently tracing the line of his freshly trimmed hair. "But mostly, from the loneliness that comes from not knowing your soulmate is out there waiting for you."

George's heart swelled with gratitude, his eyes never leaving hers. "You've done more than that," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "You've made me whole, Y/N. You've given me a purpose, a reason to wake up every morning with a smile."

Their friends had cleared the dance floor, giving them space to continue their intimate moment. The soft glow of the fairy lights above them cast a warm, romantic hue over the two of them, as if the universe itself was bending to highlight their love. Y/N's hand found its way to his cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped his eye. "And you've done the same for me," she murmured. "You've shown me that love isn't just a word in a book or a scene in a movie. It's real, it's messy, and it's beautiful."

Her words hit him like a tidal wave, the depth of her feelings resonating through his very being. He leaned into her touch, feeling the warmth of her skin, the gentle beat of her heart. "I never knew I could love someone like this," he confessed, his voice a whisper in the stillness of the night. "But here we are, and I can't imagine a single day without you by my side."

*****

The moon had risen high in the sky by the time the party began to wind down. The guests slowly started to say their goodbyes, each one offering congratulations and well wishes for a long and happy life together. As the last of the cars pulled away, George and Y/N stood on the porch, hand in hand, watching the taillights fade into the distance. The cool evening breeze danced around them, carrying with it the promise of a future filled with love and adventure.

Turning to face him, Y/N looked up into George's eyes, her own sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Ready for our grand finale?" she asked, a playful smile playing on her lips.

George raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Grand finale?"

"Mm-hmm," she nodded, her smile growing wider. "The part where we finally get to be alone."

"Alone?" George echoed, feigning innocence. "What could possibly happen when we're alone?"

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. "Oh, I'm sure we can think of something," she teased, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper.

The banter between them was light, a playful dance of words that had become a hallmark of their relationship. George's cheeks flushed slightly, the humor in his eyes betraying his excitement. "First time as husband and wife, you mean," he clarified with a grin, squeezing her hand.

"Ah, yes," Y/N giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "But you know what they say, practice makes perfect."

Without a moment's hesitation, George bent down, wrapping one arm under her knees and the other around her waist, and scooped her up into his arms. She squealed with delight, her gown fluttering around them as he spun her in a circle. "Let's get to it then, Mrs. Clarkey," he said, his grin growing wider with each passing second.

Her laughter was like music to his ears, a sweet symphony that had played on repeat in his mind since the moment they first met. "I can't wait," she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with excitement. The night was still young, and the possibilities stretched out before them like a never-ending horizon.

Carrying her over the threshold, George felt his heart swell with a love so profound, it was almost painful. This was it—the start of their forever, a journey they would navigate together, hand in hand.

He kicked the door shut with his foot, the sound echoing through the now empty house. The quiet was a stark contrast to the buzz of the wedding, but it was a welcome one. The world outside could wait—this moment was theirs, and theirs alone.

[luveline]

hi jade!!! i was wondering if i could request a bassist!remus x roadie!reader fic in which they spend time together on their day off from touring? maybe reader is totally surprised that he even asked her?

hi gorgeous!! modern au, fem 1k

cw vague adult theme, mdni 

"There you are," Remus says, as though he's said it a hundred times before, and he'll say it a hundred times again. "I've been looking for you." 

As a roadie (merchandising, mostly), there's no reason for Remus to know who you are, nor care, but he seems to like you anyhow. And there's nowhere for you to hang out in your downtime beside hotel lobby's or your literal assigned seat in the minivan, so here you are, in your pyjamas, laying on a random lobby couch with a book smushed to your chest. 

"What?" you ask, wiping the sleep from your eyes. 

"I've been looking for you. You weren't in your room." 

"I share my room with three other girls, one who has sleep apnea." The muscles in your back sing like plucked strings as you sit up. "It's quieter here… You're looking for me?" 

"Mm. Come on. We'll go get a late dinner." 

"I'm in my pyjamas." 

Remus gestures down at himself. "I thought you might be." 

He's dressed down too. Every roadie has their thing —it's hard, learning so many names at once, and eventually people begin to typecast one another as their most defining feature. Yours, to your indifference, seems to have become your more comfortable clothing choices. You're not gross, everything's clean, but is everything acceptable attire for going out into the world? 

"No one will even notice they're pyjamas," he assumes you, holding out his hand expectantly. "They look like jogging bottoms." 

"Remus, they're lavender." 

He pulls your hand toward his chest, encouraging you to stand. "They're nice." 

He ferries you out of the hotel, and you thank your lucky stars you wore your converse rather than the hotel slippers. He's clearly thought about this, offering you a hoodie (your size, clearly swiped from the merchandise van, 'marauders' written in jagged lettering across your shoulders like bat wings) as he explains the details of your trip. 

"First we'll get dinner. Then see a film in the cinema, if you want to? They have the new Exorcist." 

"I love horror." 

"I know." He nods to himself. "And then I have to buy you fresh donuts. James says they're the only way to eat them." 

"You don't have to buy me anything." 

"Sorry, I should say it differently. I'd love to buy you fresh donuts. If that's what you want to do." 

You peek at him from the corner of your eye. "I would've stayed in the lobby if I didn't want to come out with you." 

"In that case," he murmurs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 

This is worse than flirting. It feels like an initiation, or a turned tide. You smile at him from under his arm and he visibly pauses, falters, before his own smile hooks and he walks forward with a little more purpose. 

The day moves on as promised. You eat a quick dinner at a mid range restaurant before he takes you to the cinema, where he insists he doesn't want any popcorn but eats half of yours anyways. Then he takes you for donuts, and the entire time, you're thinking, what does he want from me? If Remus wanted sex he could fuck a groupie. Half the techs would crawl into bed with him if he asked. Maybe he's just gentlemanly? 

But why would he wanna fuck you? Ignoring any self-esteem issues, you're in cuffed bottoms and bare-faced, and he has no reason to believe you'd be any good in bed. 

He might want something slower, he decides. It's easier to believe when he asks if he can hold your hand on the walk home. 

"What?" you ask, sure you heard him wrong. 

"Can I?" he says, offering you his palm. 

It's different from his pulling earlier. You give him your hand and he squeezes his fingers between yours slowly, as though savouring the feeling.

You shake your head. "Was this…" 

Remus waits for you to finish. It's hard to ask under the weight of his gaze, happy but with that air of knowing you can't quite crack. He always seems so put together, even when he's asking for things, like any answer you give is one he's prepared for. 

"Was this a date?" you force out. 

"That depends. Did it go well?" 

"I would've said yes, if you asked me." 

Remus leans in like he's telling a secret, his voice hushed to match. "I know," he says gently, the tiniest hint of smugness threaded in the slight scratch of his voice. "That's mostly why I didn't ask." 

"Mostly?" 

"I couldn't face rejection. Not from you." His eyes light with an emotion you can't name. "But if you still want to reject me, I'll cope. It might be good for me, actually, it'll give me some material. Nothing makes for better music than losing a pretty girl." 

You fluster at his wording. "I would've worn something nice," you say apologetically. "If I'd known. I would've made an effort to look nice." 

"You always look nice. You think I'm put off by your pyjamas?" 

"Stop," you mumble, mortification creeping in. I can't believe I just went on a date with a rockstar in my pyjamas. 

"It's cute. You're cute, I love that you can fall asleep anywhere–" 

"Stop!" 

Remus laughs and pulls you that last inch into his side, elbow to elbow, hip to hip. "I can't. Teasing you is half the fun. It's why I haven't mentioned the powdered sugar on your lip." 

You sigh and turn your face away from him, wiping your lip with your sleeve. "You always do this." 

"Don't wipe it off, I'll get it. It'll taste sweet." 

You take your hand out of his. "Did you want this to be a date? I'll change my mind." 

He's kinder after that, and when he rubs your shoulder like he knows you need it, you almost pass out. 

[alwaysmicado]

Sunshine

6.7k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 7

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, alcohol & painkillers, a little kiss, lots of sarcasm, angst, jealousy (reader would never!) Summary: A spontaneous meeting in a bar lays bare some uncomfortable truths. A/N: Why be sad when you can just turn off your feelings and not be sad anymore? It’s so easy. /s I can't tell you how much your messages about this series mean to me!! I love talking to you about it and I appreciate your enthusiasm and support soooo much!! Enjoy this part and let me know your thoughts! 🤍

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The Birds Don’t Sing, They Screech in Pain

– Werner Herzog

– – –

You don’t have feelings. You don’t have a heart. The world is a joke and nothing you do matters.

And you got a great ass. 

So fuck it.

You close the mirror cabinet and look at your reflection. The steam from your recent shower lingers in the air, creating a hazy atmosphere around you. With a determined gaze, you meet your own eyes, trying to convince yourself of what you so desperately want to believe. 

You. Don’t. Have. Feelings. 

Sighing exasperatedly, you leave the bathroom to go get dressed. You eye the empty space on the wall where the mirror used to hang in passing and can’t help but smile sardonically at the clean floor below. Who knew you had such a talent for cleaning blood? 

If your current job doesn’t work out in the long run, crime scene cleaner could be a viable alternative.

You rummage through your drawer for a fresh pair of panties, a soft bralette without any bothersome hooks, and a flowy dress you can easily pull over your head. Comfort is key today. Your morning shower proved tricky enough, but you managed somehow, maneuvering very ungracefully to keep your injured hand dry. 

Thankfully, you were smart enough to go to bed early last night and get up in time this morning, allowing you ample time to change the bandages and dress yourself with just one functional hand.

Exhaustion still lingers in every single one of your bones, but you’re determined to not let it get you down. Not again. So, you pour yourself a cup of strong coffee, sit outside on your balcony, pop the painkillers you got at the emergency clinic on Sunday, and browse the internet for a new mirror.

The sun kissing your skin feels nice, and the fresh air invigorates your senses. There’s even a flock of birds doing their choreographed dance in the sky. Just for you. You’re living in a goddamn dream, aren’t you? 

You scoff, down the rest of your coffee, cough when it goes down the wrong pipe, and go back inside once you don’t feel like you’re choking to death anymore. It’s time for work.

Your boss graciously let you work from home on Monday and Tuesday, but since there’s an important meeting scheduled this morning, she’s asked you to come to the office today. The meds should get you through the day, you’ll just have to figure out how to do your job effectively without the ability to type with your right hand.

You could try to push some of your workload onto the new intern who’s been unsuccessfully trying to flirt with you for the past month, but he strikes you as the type to show up with flowers and a teddy bear after you compliment his sneakers once — it’s probably not the best idea to entertain him.

An office romance sounds hot on paper, but your job is the only halfway stable thing in your life, so you don’t want to mess it up for some guy. Especially if said guy looks young enough to get carded in bars.

Why can’t you just not need money and not have to go to work at all? Is that really too much to ask? 

“Get your shit together,” you murmur to yourself as you grab your bag, your keys, and quickly check your appearance in the bathroom mirror. Eh, you look fine considering the messed-up past few days you had. The black wrist brace is kind of derpy—you can already see Kristen giggling at it and very much not believing any excuse you invent for it—but the smile you force onto your face looks virtually natural. 

What a little sunshine you are. 

Sandals on your feet, sunglasses sitting on your nose, wireless earbuds in your ears, your top three songs of the week on a blissful loop, you start your walk to the office. Nothing bad can touch you when the rhythm of your favorite beats courses through your veins, encapsulating you in an invincible cocoon.

For the first few minutes at least.

Your pulse quickens and your chest tightens as the gas station, where Joel could barely wait to pull out of you before gushing about his date, comes into view. And of course, Chris, the clerk, steps outside right as you pass it to inexplicably water the two withered plants next to the entrance.

You attempt to speed walk, hoping to avoid an embarrassing encounter, but where’s the fun in that, right? Sure enough, you hear him calling after you.

You roll your eyes behind your glasses and reluctantly stop, pulling out one of your earbuds as you turn to face him. His eyes fixate on the black brace around your wrist.

“What happened to your hand? Too much fun on the weekend?” he asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

You sigh, not in the mood for a detailed conversation, and also very much aware of what he’s probably insinuating. “Just a little accident at home,” you reply, keeping it vague. “Don’t do yoga if you’re drunk.”

He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, he’s nice enough to not keep you any longer. “Well, I hope it heals soon. And let me know if you, uh, need anything. You know where to find me.”

You nod, offering a polite smile, and continue on your way, reinserting the earbud to drown out the world. You turn up the volume, lip-sync, and ignore Joel’s call without missing a beat.

– – –

“Please, tell me. Please, please, please. Come on…you know you’re gonna tell me eventually, so let’s just save us some time and get it over with. You know I can keep a secret.”

As expected, Kristen is very intrigued by your wrist brace. In fact, she has been switching between begging for you to tell her what happened and coming up with some outlandish theories since you sat down at your desk four hours ago. To nobody’s surprise, they all involve some sort of sex accident. 

It’s kind of funny, though, that none of the elaborate stories she imagines come close to capturing the absurdity of your reality. Oh well, you’re used to it by now. And yet, there’s no way in hell you’re going to divulge one of your most vulnerable and embarrassing moments to her. Not a chance. 

“I already told you,” you say without stopping your one-handed typing. “I got drunk watching The Bachelor and then my genius brain decided that was the perfect moment to try out some new yoga positions. It’s a miracle I only sprained my wrist and didn’t break my neck.” You put on your most convincing smile and look at her. “It’s embarrassing as shit, okay? I mean, look at this thing,” you point at your injured hand. “I look like a kid who fell off a swing on the playground.”

Kristen giggles and is about to say something, but right at that moment, she receives a phone call from a client. She sighs, narrows her eyes, and mouths, “This is not over.” You wink at her and go back to typing with your left hand, occasionally swearing under your breath when you hit the wrong keys. This is all so much fun. 

The rest of the day goes by in a blur of emails, phone calls, bad coffee, painkillers, Kristen putting a heart sticker on your wrist brace, another meeting, and your phone lighting up with new messages from Joel. 

By 5:30 p.m. your brain is about to explode, so you decide to call it a day and leave. There’s a frozen pizza waiting for you at home and you can hear your pajamas and sofa calling your name. Sweet, sweet solitude; it’s so close you can feel it. You just have to walk out fast eno–

“Drinks.”

“Did you seriously just hide behind that plant and jump out?” you chuckle, and Kristen’s grin tells you that is absolutely, one hundred percent what just happened. 

“Drinks,” she repeats. And when you open your mouth, she says it again, but this time she gives you her most adorable pout.

“Okay, okay,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes. “You can stop the puppy routine.”

“I love how easy you are,” she beams at you and plants a kiss on your cheek. “Let’s go!”

The warmth of the summer evening envelops you both as you step outside. The sun, still casting its golden hues across the city, paints the urban landscape with a vibrant palette. Kristen, with a fancy sun hat perched on her head that perfectly complements her black hair, looks for bars near you on her phone.

As you try to decide on a bar, the balmy air carries the distant sounds of the city’s summer symphony. The occasional laughter from a nearby cafe mingles with the hum of traffic, creating a lively backdrop to your anticipation.

Amidst the ambient noise, your phone buzzes with Tommy’s name flashing on the screen. You answer, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hi Tommy.”

“Hi honey,” Tommy’s voice comes through, the background noise indicating he’s at a lively place. “Just calling to ask how you’re doing today.”

“You know you don’t need to call me every day to ask me that, right?” you chuckle, still unable to understand why he even cares. You don’t deserve him.

“Come on, it’s the highlight of my day,” he says in mock offense, and you can perfectly picture the grin on his face. 

“Well, if it’s that important to you…” you say, a smile on your lips. “I’m good. My friend and I are going for drinks. Just need to decide on a bar first.”

“What a perfect coincidence! I’m at this new place right now. They got great burgers and drinks, even non-alcoholic stuff,” he tells you excitedly. “Oh and Joel’s here, too.”

Your heart skips a beat at Tommy’s words. Joel is there, at the same place. The thought of seeing him again stirs a concoction of emotions within you — longing, uncertainty, and a subtle yearning for things to be okay. There’s an undeniable pull. You miss him.

As you take a moment to think of your answer, Kristen mouths, “Who’s that?”

“It’s my friend, and he’s inviting us to join him at a bar,” you explain to her.

Tommy’s voice perks up on the phone, “Come on, it’ll be a blast. The more, the merrier!”

You look at Kristen questioningly, and she gives you two thumbs up and a big smile. 

You sigh and look up at the sky. There’s a big bird chasing a smaller one. “Okay, we’re in,” you say to Tommy, and his excited shouts in your ear make you giggle. He sends you the location and you immediately order an Uber for you and Kristen. You don’t have to wait for long.

Sitting in the car, your initial, albeit reluctant, excitement has turned into annoyance as the hands of the clock seem to move at an agonizingly slow pace. What was supposed to be a ten-minute journey has stretched into an interminable thirty minutes, courtesy of the unrelenting rush hour traffic. 

The air inside the car feels stifling, even with the AC humming, and the incessant chatter about football between the driver and Kristen becomes an indistinct drone. Your lack of interest in the sport combines with the whirlwind in your head, making their conversation an incomprehensible blur.

As your stomach churns, a sense of queasiness settles over you, intensifying the already uncomfortable ride.

By the time you make it to the bar, you’re tired, cranky, and wish you had just gone home after work. You could be lying on your sofa right now, stuffing your face with pizza, watching Netflix, and testing your new vibrator before falling asleep in your soft bed. But no, you just had to be social, hm?

As you enter the crowded and lively bar, the buzz of upbeat chatter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic thump of music surrounds you. Everyone’s loud and happy, and you’re just not in the right mood for it. Slowly making your way through the sea of faces with Kristen trailing behind, you spot Tommy seated in a cozy booth.

The mere sight of him puts you at ease — for about a second, that is.

Your eyes fall onto Joel and the woman who’s casually touching his shoulder, comfortably nestled against the plush cushioned seats. You’ve never seen her before, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist or even a sober brain to figure out who she is. What is she whispering into his ear now? He’s laughing. You can see his eye crinkles from where you’re standing.

The sight is like a punch to your gut.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place, and the urge to turn around and run away grips you. Unwelcome emotions and memories surge back, catching you off guard and leaving you breathless. Just as you contemplate an escape route, Tommy spots you from across the room, his face lighting up. 

“Sweetheart,” he shouts, rising from his seat and waving enthusiastically. His excited shout draws the attention of everyone around him, including Joel. Your eyes lock, and for a brief moment, the world around you fades. The corners of his lips instinctively turn upwards as he looks at you, but after spotting your wrist brace and the pained look on your face, he furrows his brow.

What the hell happened to you?

In the blink of an eye, you flip a switch in your brain, put on the most radiant smile you can muster, straighten your shoulders and cross the room. Joel’s concerned eyes don’t leave you for a second.

“There she is,” Tommy says, genuine warmth in his voice as he leans in to plant a kiss on your cheek, followed by a tight, comforting hug. “It’s so good to see you.” 

“You too, Tommy,” you murmur, a sense of momentary relief washing over you in the wake of his presence.

He pulls away from the hug, extending his greeting to Kristen, before introducing you both to the beautiful brunette sitting next to his brother. Draping his arm around your shoulders, he tells you with a smile that, “This is Jan, an old school friend of mine. We actually didn’t plan this whole meeting with everyone, somehow we just all ended up here. Funny coincidence,” he chuckles and you strain the muscles around your mouth so hard it hurts.  

“It’s nice to meet you, Jan,” you say, reaching out to shake her hand. She reciprocates your greeting and gives you a charming smile. 

“And I don’t need to introduce you to this guy, huh?” Tommy grins, squeezing your shoulder.

Your gaze shifts to Joel, who’s caught in the limbo of whether to remain seated or stand up, so he ends up awkwardly half-standing, caged in the narrow space between the bench and table.

“Hi, Joel,” you say, your eyes lacking their usual vivacity—a detail not lost on him.

He settles back into his seat, audibly clearing his throat. “Hi, darlin’.”

He studies your face as you settle down beside Tommy. You look as beautiful and glowing as always, but the longer he looks, the more cracks in the carefully put up facade he can see. Your smile isn’t genuine, your eyes look a bit swollen—like you’ve been crying or not sleeping well—and your body language screams unease.

The others may not notice, but he does. Because he knows you.

Kristen takes a seat beside Jan, seamlessly weaving herself into the ongoing conversation with Joel. Her ability to navigate social dynamics with such ease leaves you marveling – how is she so good at this? Her charm extends, connecting the trio in animated small talk.

Your body eases into a semblance of relaxation as Tommy pulls you closer and presses a kiss on the crown of your head. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers into your hair, a tender reassurance that brings a sense of solace.

Sitting up straight, you return his smile, gratitude evident in your eyes. “Thanks to you.”

Tommy beams at you, momentarily lost in the exchange, before redirecting his attention to the group. “Are you guys ready for a first round of drinks?” he asks, the unison response from everyone echoing with enthusiasm, a collective “yes” that adds a burst of energy to the already vibrant atmosphere. 

– – –

After three rounds of drinks (you very responsibly decided to change to coke after one mojito), burgers, nachos, sharing the epic tale of how you managed to hurt your hand doing yoga, Jan gossiping about the guy her adult daughter brought home last week, Tommy sharing hilarious stories from his and Joel’s workplace, and everyone seemingly having loads of fun, you let yourself relax a bit.

It’s nice witnessing Joel’s laughter and enjoyment. A warmth spreads through your heart at the sight, a flicker of happiness for him. Yet, the subtle discomfort lingers as Jan’s touch becomes a constant presence on his arm. Rationalizing it as a casual gesture during conversation and under the influence of drinks doesn’t fully erase the twinge of unease settling within you.

But you can handle it, you convince yourself.

Until you can’t. 

You can’t handle it when Jan’s hand finds its way to Joel’s thigh and her lips brush the shell of his ear.

You glance at Joel, searching for a reaction, a flicker of discomfort perhaps, but his response is subtle. A shift in his seat, a movement so slight it could be mistaken for a casual adjustment, yet there’s a discernible change in his demeanor. It’s a momentary pause, a beat in the rhythm of the evening.

The weight of the scene bears down on you, and you feel a pang of vulnerability, a subtle ache in your chest. In that split second, a mix of emotions surges within you – a tinge of hurt, a brush of jealousy, and a sting of betrayal.

Emotions you haven’t felt in years. Emotions you have sworn to yourself you’d never feel again.

Why does it bother you so much? Is it because it reminds you of how you touched him, how you ran your hand further and further up his thigh when he was taking you home for the first time, teasing him until he couldn’t take it anymore, pulled his car over and fucked you in the driver’s seat? Has she done that with him? Is she as addictive as you are?

This close to a full-blown panic attack, you jump up from your seat to the surprise of everyone at your table. You make brief eye contact with Kristen, who shoots you a sympathetic look. 

Excusing yourself, you navigate through the bustling crowd towards the restrooms, located downstairs and accessible via a staircase. There are three separate spacious restrooms, and you choose the first one. Inside, you immediately head to the sink, running your left hand under cold water. The sensation helps to calm you down.

Closing your eyes, you take deep breaths, reassuring yourself that it’s not a big deal, and that it’s exactly what it was always meant to be—probably even for the best.

Then, as you try to find composure, a knock on the door interrupts your thoughts.

“Occupied!” you yell in response to the knock, and then you hear Joel’s deep voice saying, “It’s me.” 

Of course it is.

You sigh exasperatedly and shuffle to the door to let him in. Joel enters, swiftly locking the door behind him.

“There’s two other restrooms, you know,” you murmur as you walk back to the sink and divert your attention to your reflection in the mirror, concentrating on fixing your hair. 

“Yeah, well, I specifically want the one with you in it,” he says with a little smirk, his eyes searching for yours in the mirror. As your gaze meets his, he’s taken aback by the lack of the usual sparkle that used to light up your eyes at the sight of him. The absence of that adoration he’s grown accustomed to leaves a void, and a tinge of concern creeps into his expression.

“Hey,” he says tentatively, his voice softer than before. “Are you okay, darlin’?”

You look at him, and the weariness in your eyes doesn’t escape his attention. There’s a distant quality to your gaze, and it sends a pang of worry through him. The connection he once felt in your eyes seems to have dimmed, and he can’t help but feel a sense of loss.

It’s the same expression you had when he last saw you. He hates it.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you respond, putting on your fake smile again, but the lack of conviction in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

Joel’s concern deepens as he steps closer, the teasing smirk replaced by genuine worry. “I’ve been trying to reach you, but you haven’t responded to any of my texts or calls.” He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, his brow furrowed. “I was worried something happened, and—he points at your injured hand—my feeling was right.” He tilts his head and studies your face. “What happened?”

You turn around and lean against the sink, holding your right arm with your left hand, your eyes revealing a complex mixture of emotions. “I told you already,” you say nonchalantly. “Getting drunk and trying to do elaborate yoga poses is a dumb idea if you’re as clumsy as me.”

Joel raises his eyebrows, not believing a word you’re saying. “That’s not all, is it?”

“What do you mean?” you say, feigning ignorance.

“You don’t seem like yourself and I’m…worried about you.” Joel’s concern etches lines on his forehead as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes, usually warm and comforting, narrow slightly as he studies your seemingly cheerful facade.

“But this is myself.” You point at your smiley face with your left hand and tilt your head. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head, a subtle sigh escaping him. “That’s not what I said. I just feel like something’s off.”

“Is it because I’m happy?”

“It’s because I don’t believe you’re happy. I know you too well, baby.”

You scoff, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I’m happy? Do you want me to be miserable?”

“No, sweetheart. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be happy. But you’re lying to my face right now and I don’t appreciate that.”

You turn your head to avoid his gaze, your silence speaking volumes, your hand tightly gripping the flesh of your arm as if to contain the emotional turmoil threatening to spill over.

Stop it.

“Darlin’,” Joel says gently, closing the physical gap between you two, and reaching out to place his warm palms on your shoulders. “Look at me.”

A shiver runs down your spine and tiny goosebumps instantly form on your skin. You’ve missed his touch more than you care to admit — to yourself or to him. His touch is tender, a plea for connection, but you hesitate. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, revealing the deep sadness you tried to conceal.

What happened to you? Whatever it was, it breaks his heart that he wasn’t there to protect you.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks softly.

“Not everything’s about you, Joel.”

“I know that. I just…wish you would let me know what’s going on.” His touch becomes a subconscious reassurance as he absentmindedly rubs your arms, as if trying to make sure you’re really there in front of him.

“Why do I owe you that? Why do I owe you every shitty detail of my life while I know virtually nothing about you?” you say a little sharper than intended. 

Joel takes a deep breath. “You don’t owe me anything. I just thought–” he pauses, searching your eyes. “I miss seeing that spark in your eyes when you look at me,” he admits, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “I never fully realized how much it meant to me until now.”

You take a moment to process his words and his touch as frustration bubbles up inside you. Your heart aches.

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Doing what? Caring about you?”

“Ruining the mood.” You shake your head, swallowing what you actually want to say, any traces of happiness erased from your face. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad, it’s starting to work.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m trying to understand what’s happened since the last time I saw you.” He tilts his head and studies your face, genuine concern in his eyes. 

All you can see, though, is disappointment. He’s disappointed in you, you can sense it. And how could he not be? You’re a liability, a mess. Looks like he’s finally seeing you for who you are, and that’s why he replaced you.

“And now’s the best time to do that?” you scoff, averting your gaze and looking around. 

“What am I supposed to do when you don’t respond to me for days on end and this is my only chance of talking to you?”

You look back into his eyes. “How about leaving it alone?”

“I can’t do that. Not when it comes to you,” he says, shaking his head and moving closer, his cologne filling your senses like a familiar embrace. His hands trace the contours of your neck, a gentle and deliberate touch that ignites a cascade of sensations. His thumbs brush your cheekbones with a tenderness that speaks of longing, his gaze dropping to your lips before finding your eyes again.

In that charged moment, the air between you thickens with unspoken desires before you both succumb to the magnetic pull drawing you together. Your heartbeat quickens, matching the rhythm of anticipation. Without breaking eye contact, he closes the remaining distance, his lips meeting yours in a soft yet passionate kiss. The familiar sensation of his lips on yours is both electric and comforting, and you allow yourself to get lost in it for a bit.

As he eases away, his fingers trail lightly down your neck and arms, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. There’s a soft smile on his lips as he breaks the silence. 

“I mean it when I say I care about you and want the best for you, darlin’,” he murmurs. “And you don’t have to tell me any details about what happened if you’re not ready yet, but I need to know what made you not want to call me. We’ve been there for each other in difficult situations before, so I just really don’t get it.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, frustration and anger intertwining with the lingering memory of his lips on yours.

“Why in the world would I ever call you while you’re on a date?” you say quietly, a steely edge in your voice, no trace of a smile to be found on your lips.

Oh. So it did bother you. 

Joel’s expression shifts from concern to a momentary realization, the lines on his forehead deepening. “I would always drop everything to be there for you. No matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

You laugh wryly. “Joel. Seriously. Are you really trying to tell me you were oh so worried about me while you were fucking someone else? And that you’re worried now even though she’s currently upstairs, desperately waiting for you to take her home? Come on, don’t insult my intelligence.”

He stares at you in utter disbelief and takes a step back, as if physically recoiling from the weight of your words. “That’s not what–”

“Look, Joel,” you push yourself off the sink, straighten up, and walk past him towards the door. “It doesn’t matter. You can fuck or date whoever you like. Jan seems nice and like a good match, so I’m very happy for you.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not doing any of that. You misunders–”

You turn around sharply to look at him. “I misunderstood the woman who’s had her hands all over you the whole evening?” 

“It’s not like that,” he insists, trying to get through to you. “She’s drunk as hell and probably doesn’t even realize what she’s doing. And I’m not interested anyway.”

“Sure. That’s why she’s here right now.”

“I had nothing to do with that. Tommy invited her without telling me,” he says, running his fingers through his hair as his stress is mounting. “Darlin’, please. This isn’t even about her; it’s about you and me. And maybe it’s time to stop pretending everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.”

You turn your head, deliberately avoiding the intensity of his gaze as the weight of his words settles in. His plea sends palpable waves of discomfort through your already wounded emotions, causing your chest to tighten further. Why is he doing this? Is this fun for him? 

“So you’d rather keep pretending everything’s fine?” he presses, his tone a mix of concern and urgency, the edges of his patience beginning to fray. 

Okay, now you’ve had it.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Joel. What do you want from me?” you hiss at him, frustration dripping from your words.

Joel is momentarily taken aback, but his own agitation prevents him from fully grasping your distress. A deep sigh escapes him as he props one hand on his hip, rubbing his eyes wearily with the other.

“Since when does it matter what I want?” he murmurs.

Ouch.

That hurt.

Your face falls, and you feel like he just slapped you across the face. The sting of his words cuts deep, causing tears to well up in your eyes.

Joel’s eyes widen in shock when he sees the look on your face. “Shit, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammers, realizing the impact of his words a moment too late. “I’m sorry, baby, I–” his voice trembles with regret, desperate to undo the damage he’s done.

“Is that how you really feel? That I don’t care about what you want?” you ask, your voice shaky.

“No, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so–”

“But that’s how you feel? Deep down?”

Why are you acting so surprised? Were you really naive enough to believe him when he said he was happy with you? God, you’re dumb.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he reaches out to wipe away the tears that are making their way down your cheeks, but you push his hand away.

“I came here for you, Joel,” you blurt out, your raised voice startling him. “And I–I spent the last three hours making conversation with everyone, including the woman you’re fucking, because I care about you and want you to be happy, even though my hand is killing me and I’m so drained I have to force my eyes to stay open.”

You express yourself with animated hand gestures as you talk through your tears, your voice breaking. 

“I had a horrible weekend and needed some time to recover, but I was so fucking happy to see you tonight because I’ve missed you and I’ve–I’ve never hidden how much I like spending time with you. Why is that not enough? What more do you want from me?”

Your big, watery eyes pierce Joel’s, and the fact that he’s the reason for your tears pierces his heart.

“Darlin’, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t right what I said.”

He takes a step closer to you, the desperation in his eyes matching the pain in yours, intending to pull you into a comforting hug to calm you—and himself—down. However, you immediately take a step back, creating a physical distance between you two.

“Do you want me to cry ‘cause seeing you with another woman breaks my heart? Is that it?” 

Joel stares at you incredulously, your accusing tone making him wince. “No, of course no–”

Your heart is racing, and you can feel the tightness in your chest growing with every second you’re looking into Joel’s eyes. Eyes that—until now—have always made you feel so calm, so safe, so…loved. Your hands tremble slightly, and a lump forms in your throat, making it difficult to speak.

“Do you want me to make a scene in front of everyone ‘cause it physically pains me to think you’re touching her the same way you touch me?”

Joel opens his mouth to say something, a fleeting impulse to express himself and try to console you, but he catches himself, realizing that uttering those words might inflict more damage than repair right now. 

“Do you want me to beg you not to leave me ‘cause I can’t even imagine my life without you anymore? Is that what you want?”

“Sweetheart...” He takes a step towards you, his eyes pleading, but you cut him off.

“No, I’m fucking sick of this,” your words spill out between sobs as tears stream down your face. “It’s always the same. I’m good enough only as long as I act the way you want it, and the minute you get bored or realize I’m not as perfect as you imagined, you replace me with someone better. Everyone always fucking leaves and I’m so sick of it.”

“Darlin’, I swear that’s not what’s happening,” Joel implores, his whole body so tense and hot he’s sweating through his shirt. “I’m not leaving and I really didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

You sigh deeply, grab a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, blow your nose, and dry your tears.

“I knew this was gonna happen and I still let myself believe I could be enough for once,” you murmur more to yourself than him, your head pounding painfully.

Serves you right for having feelings.

Joel says your name gently, trying his best not to spook you. His words hang in the air like a lifeline, a desperate attempt to mend what is broken.

“You are enough. You’ve always been enough. I’m so sorry for making you feel otherwise.”

Your head is spinning, emotions tumultuous and unyielding. In dire need of fresh air and distance from Joel, you stagger towards the door. His voice follows you, pleading.

“Sweetheart, I promise I’m not going to leave you. And I’m so incredibly sorry for upsetting you, I just–” he exhales deeply and clears his throat. “I wanted you to be honest with me about your feelings, but this wasn’t the way to go about it. I’m sorry.”

The door swings open, and you turn around, the forced smile from before back on your lips. 

“Well, congratulations, Joel,” you say, your tone laced with a mix of bitterness and anguish. “You got what you wanted. I hope you’re fucking happy.”

The door slams shut behind you, leaving Joel stunned, alone with the haunting echoes of shattered trust and unspoken pain, the distant thump of music mirroring the beating of his remorseful heart.

As you make your way back upstairs, the residual heat of the argument lingers on your skin. Taking a deep breath, you enter the lively space once more. Tommy, who’s standing at the bar, notices you, concern etched across his face.

“Hey, is everything okay, honey?” he asks, his voice soft with genuine worry.

You manage a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. My hand’s just hurting really bad now and the meds make me dizzy, so I’ll head home.”

He furrows his brow. “Joel’s my designated driver, but I can take a cab, so he can drive you home.” He looks around, searching the bar for his brother. “Where is he anyway?”

“There’s a huge line in front of the restrooms, he’s probably still waiting. And it’s okay, Tommy, really.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, seeking solace, and bury your face in the crook of his neck. He responds by pulling you into a warm and reassuring embrace, a gesture that speaks volumes without the need for words. Luckily, he’s drunk enough not to smell his brother on you.

“I missed you,” you murmur, your eyes closed. 

Tommy strokes the back of your head and chuckles. “I missed you, too, sweetheart.”

He pulls away far enough to look into your eyes, giving you the brightest smile. “Tell you what. You come over for dinner on Friday — no ifs, ands, or buts. Maria’s been wanting to see you, and we just finished our patio, so it’s perfect.”

You pinch his cheek and shake your head at him. “It’s not fair that you’re this charming, you know? How could I ever say no?”

“Don’t say no, then,” he says playfully,  a hint of worry still in his eyes.

You sigh exaggeratedly. “Okay, okay, I won’t.”

“Attagirl. And you’re sure you don’t want Joel to drive you?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I always find my way home somehow.” You plant a kiss on Tommy’s cheek, and he finally agrees to release you from his embrace after securing a pinky promise that you ‘a hundred percent won’t flake out’.

You walk over to Kristen and Jan, who are still sitting at your table, engrossed in an animated conversation. Observing them for a moment, you find yourself captivated by Jan’s effortless charisma. She’s a real sunshine — and unlike you, she doesn’t have to fake it. Had you met her under different circumstances, you might have liked her. 

Kristen’s eyes meet yours, and her brow furrows slightly, registering the expression on your face for a fleeting moment. Swiftly, you put on a polite smile and step closer, masking the momentary vulnerability with practiced ease.

“Ladies,” you say, a touch of self-deprecating humor in your tone, “I know I’m lame, but I’m actually going home already. Just wanted to say goodbye.”

Jan answers first, surprising you with a warm smile. “Oh, that’s not lame at all! You’re just smarter than us.”

You hold up your injured hand and deadpan, “Yeah, I’m a real genius, aren’t I?”

Jan and Kristen giggle, and you join in, sharing a brief moment of camaraderie. You’re so good at this. Almost believable. 

As you look for your bag on the bench, contemplating the logistics of your departure, Kristen catches your eye and winks at you.

“I’ll come with you,” she says, giving you a reassuring look. “Our boss is gonna have a fit if I fall asleep at my desk again, so…I guess this is what being a responsible adult is,” she sighs. She hands you your bag, downs the rest of her drink, and the two of you say goodbye to Jan, who’s now getting up to search for the Miller brothers.

Kristen takes you by the hand, gently leading you outside. The cool breeze brushes against your face as the sun starts its descent, offering a much-needed breath of fresh air. Settling down down on the curb together, you find a comfortable spot, trying your best not to inadvertently flash someone as you adjust your dress. 

“I’ll call us an Uber,” Kristen says, her tone comforting. You appreciate the warmth of her presence as you wait for the ride, the fading sunlight casting a soft glow on both of you.

“Done.” She wraps her arm around you, providing a supportive shoulder for you to lean on. The two of you sit in silence, the ambient noise of traffic and distant chatter from the bar filling the air, serving as a backdrop to the racing thoughts in your mind. Eventually, Kristen succumbs to her curiosity. 

“So…” she starts, her voice carefully navigating the sensitive terrain. “That’s him?”

You chuckle faintly. “Yup. That’s him.”

“Hmm, I get it now. He’s hot as fuck,” she says, happy that she can make you laugh. “Do you think he’d be up for a threesome?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d be up for it. I’m just not so sure about his heart being able to take it. Or his back. Or his knees.”

Kristen giggles and then looks at you for a moment, fascinated by this evening’s revelations. “It’s so interesting, I had no idea you were into older guys.”

“I, uh, didn’t know either before I met him.”

“I see,” she nods, a thoughtful expression on her face. Another minute of shared silence passes before she decides to just come out and ask you the one burning question on her mind.

“Do you love him?”

You don’t need a second to think about your answer.

– – –

Thank you for reading!! 🤍

→ part 6 || part 8 || series masterlist

tagging: @koshkaj-blog @paleidiot @pattwtf @tuquoquebrute @witchofthedeepwoods let me know if you want to be added!

[dontopenfairies]

All Alfie wants is to sneak downstairs and past his housemates, who are all out on the couch watching TV together, to get a snack from the kitchen. He’s almost made it to the kitchen doorway when he hears a voice.

“Hey, has anyone checked Alfie lately?” asks Damian, loud enough that he can be heard clearly over the TV.

There’s a soft chorus of “no’s” and Damian stage-whispers, “Laila, you do it.”

“Alfiee,” sings Laila. “Come over here and get your pull-up checked.”

“I—I don’t need that,” stammers Alfie. “I just want to go to the kitchen and get something to eat…”

“Alfie. Come over here. Now.” Her voice is firm and authoritative, really contrasting the gentle singsong she was using a second before. She jabs one finger at the floor right in front of the couch.

Alfie walks over, very aware of the fact that four pairs of eyes are now staring at him instead of the TV. Laila’s manicured fingers quickly undo his fly and pull his pants down to his thighs. She smiles at him, a little wickedly. She has to be doing this on purpose. They’re all doing it on purpose, they can all tell that he’s been nursing a huge crush on her for months.

“Ohh, you peed your pull-up, Alfie baby,” she says. “You’re going to leak if you keep wearing that.”

“Alana, go get Alfie a new pull-up,” says Damian, and Alana quickly stands up and heads upstairs towards Alfie’s room.

“No,” says Alfie, “don’t dig in my stuff.”

“Shh,” says Damian. “She’ll be in and out. She just needs to grab you a pull-up from your bedside drawer.”

Alfie feels heat rising in his face knowing that everyone in the house knows exactly where his pull-ups are.

Alana thumps back down the stairs, holding the fresh pull-up casually in one hand. She passes it to Laila and sits back down on the couch.

“Okay, Alfie, let’s get this off you,” says Laila, pulling his pants down even further.

“Noo,” says Alfie, stomping his foot. “Not in front of everyone.”

“Do it behind the couch,” laughs Damian, and Laila rises, sweeping her skirt under her, and takes Alfie’s hand. His heart starts to beat faster.

“See, that’s more private, Alfie,” says Damian, laughing again. “Look, we’ll even turn up the TV. See, now it’s like you aren’t even there.”

But Alfie is there, right behind everyone, divided only by the back of the couch. Laila gently takes off his pull-up, setting it on top of his pants on the hardwood floor.

“Don’t do that,” Alfie whines. “You’ll get my pants wet.”

“Shouldn’t have peed yourself,” says Laila, holding out the clean pull-up. “Step in.” She pulls it up around his waist. She passes the wet pull-up to Pat. “Stick that in the pail in the bathroom when you get the chance,” she says casually.

“Oh my god,” says Damian. “That’s SOAKED. It’s a wonder he didn’t leak.”

“Stop talking about me,” Alfie mutters, trying to make his voice louder and failing.

Laila pulls his pants up off the floor and pats them. “Only a little damp, no biggie,” she says. She holds them out, just like she did with the pull-up, and pulls them up over his hips and zips him up again. “See? You’re fine.” She gives him a, frankly, very unnecessary pat on the ass.

“Come watch TV with us, Alfie,” says Alana. “Look, it’s that baking show you like.”

Alfie looks. It *is* that baking show he likes. He follows Laila back around the couch and sits down at Damian’s feet. He’s known Damian the longest, since way before they started living together, and feels the most comfortable around him, even when Damian teases him.

“Hey, go get your snack first, dude,” says Damian, pushing Alfie with his foot. Alfie obliges and gets to his feet, hurrying to the kitchen to not miss any of the show. Damian calls out after him. “It’d better be a string cheese and juice in your sippy cup,” he yells. “Or else we’re changing the channel. There’s a football game on in a couple minutes.”

Alfie’s face is hot as he pours juice into his sippy cup, accidentally spilling a bunch on the table because of how much he’s shaking. Laila hasn’t changed in him in a while and it’s like his body remembers the feeling of her fingers gently slipping into the pull-up to take it off him.

“There he is,” says Damian when he comes back, carrying the sippy cup in one hand and the string cheese in the other. “That took forever.”

“I spilled,” said Alfie.

“You cleaned it up, right?” asks Pat, always concerned about the cleanliness of the kitchen.

“Yeah,” says Alfie.

“Yeah, Alfie’s a good boy, huh?” says Damian, leaning over and rustling his hair. “Don’t you want to sit on the couch? Alana’s about to leave for rugby practice. You could sit next to your giiiiirlfriend.” Everyone laughs. They’re not saying it seriously; it’s like he’s a kid with an accidental but very serious crush on a babysitter, or something.

Alana stands up. “I’ve gotta get my gear together. You can take my seat, Alfie.”

“Come on, Alfie,” say Pat and Damian, voices overlapping. Alfie glances over his shoulder at Laila.

“Come on, Alfie,” she says softly. Alfie stands up and pads over, sitting down and pulling his legs up to his chest.

“Hahaha,” laughs Pat, “that got him.”

“You forgot your juice, dude,” says Damian, picking up the cup off the ground. Alfie holds out his hand for it but Damian passes it to Laila. “Make sure he’s hydrated, Laila.”

Laila laughs and looks at Alfie, eyebrows raised. What’s going to happen now? She raises the cup. It’s coming towards his mouth. Without time to really react, Alfie feels the cup’s nipple on his lips, parting them. Laila uses one hand to steady his head. “It’s okay,” she says. “You can take a drink.”

Alfie does, and Pat and Damian chuckle again. Alfie pushes the cup away. “You guys are making me miss my show! Look, it’s the final challenge!”

“Don’t push Laila away,” says Pat, “you’ll hurt her feelings.”

Laila pretends to pout, participating in the theatrics.

“Stopp, you guys,” says Alfie, burying his face in his hands.

“We’re just teasing you,” says Damian. “We’ll stop if you want to.”

“It doesn’t even matter,” says Alfie. “My show’s almost over.”

“That’s your main concern?” Laila says quietly. “After you peed yourself earlier?”

Not her, too! Alfie hides his face in his knees. When he looks up, the end credits are rolling.

“Okay, are you ready to go to the bar?” asks Damian, as he and Pat get to their feet.

“Yep,” is Pat’s answer. “I am so fucking ready to get wasted.”

“Hey! You said you’re driving tonight!”

“Not true! We already decided it was your turn!” They bicker all the way to the door.

Laila turns around in her seat. “You boys should just get an Uber.” After they’re out the door, somehow still arguing, Alfie realizes that he is in the house with Laila, alone. He stands up.

“I’m going upstairs,” he says awkwardly.

“Okay,” says Laila, shrugging her shoulders.

The evening passes quickly. Alfie spends a few minutes on his university homework and then plays video games. At nine, he’s starting to yawn. There’s a knock on the door.

“Hello?”

The door cracks open. It’s Laila.

“Hi, Alfie,” she says. “Are you doing okay?”

“Um, yeah, uh…I just changed, so, I don’t really need…”

“Oh, I don’t mean *that*. I just feel bad that you missed your show earlier.” She’s holding her laptop. “Do you want to stream it? We can use my account.”

“What? Um, yeah, I’d be down.”

She smiles and enters the room.

“Um, are we alone?” asks Alfie, standing up.

“Oh, well, the boys are still out, but Alana’s here. But she just made a protein shake and went to do homework, or something.”

“Ohh,” says Alfie. “Okay.” Where in his messy room are they going to watch TV? All his chairs are covered in laundry and books and random things. She answers his silent question by sitting on his bed.

“Oh, sorry, I should have asked. Is it okay if I sit here?”

“Um, yeah, um, that’s fine, I’m just going to go to the bathroom real quick…”

“For what?”

He hesitates. “Oh, I…”

“You’re silly. Come here and sit with me.” She moves so that her back is to his pillows and her legs out in front of her. She pats the spot next to him and looks at him expectantly. He sits down. “Aw, not like that, so stiff. Relax a little.”

Alfie tries his best as he watches her log in and search the name of his show.

“Oh, come on,” she says, jabbing him in the arm as the opening music plays and she puts the show into full screen. “You can lean into me. We don’t have to sit an inch apart, it’s okay.”

Alfie slowly rests his head on her shoulder. She smells really nice. The episode is starting. Without thinking, his thumb slips into his mouth.

They watch the episode in silence, Laila occasionally petting his hair. The door cracks open about halfway through.

“Hey Alf, have you seen my…” It’s Alana, in her post-rugby sweatsuit. “Oh, hey Laila.”

“I’m just hanging out with Alfie before bed,” says Laila.

“Uh-huh,” says Alana, clearly not thinking very much of this. “Have either of you seen my phone charger?”

“Nope,” says Laila, and Alfie shakes his head. “But you can borrow mine. It’s in the kitchen, plugged in by the toaster.”

“Awesome, thanks,” says Alana, leaving and shutting the door behind her.

“Hey, Alfie,” says Laila, looking down at him. “It’s getting pretty late. You need to go brush your teeth soon, okay? How about when this episode is over? I need to go and get some stuff done, anyway.”

“Okay,” Alfie nods.

Later that night, Alfie is lying in bed, letting the comforting memory of Laila’s arm around him lull him to sleep. He hears voices outside the door. At first he can’t make out who is talking, but then he hears Damian’s drunken laugh.

“What?? I didn’t know he still sucks his thumb! Oh my god, Laila, that’s crazy.”

Alfie’s heart hammers. Was that all a set-up so that his housemates had new material to tease him over? He knew he shouldn’t take it seriously, but he hadn’t realized it was like *that*. Is he that stupid?

“No, we won’t tell anybody, don’t worry,” says Pat. “Besides, he’s a grown adult, he can defend himself if anyone says anything.”

“You mean, we’ll defend him,” says Damian, and then Alfie squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to sleep as the voices fade and doors close in the rest of the house.

[daisyofwaterdeep]

Happy Birthday @forget-me-maybe !!!! Please enjoy the little Rolan treat I've cooked up for your special day (o゜▽゜)o☆ SFW Rolan/Reader It's your Birthday, and Rolan is hosting your party.

Rolan had been so flattered that you invited him to your Birthday celebration, and was all too eager when you asked if Ramazith's Tower could act as the venue.

Cleaning, decorating, cooking-- Rolan neglects his work for an entire week to ensure that your party is just as elegant and extravagant as you deserve.

Dressed to the nines in a new suit he purchased just for the occasion, Rolan pats the carefully crafted letter in his breast pocket as guests begin to pour in.

Hosting comes easy to him, especially when all of the idle chatting consists of compliments to the party-- how delicious the food is, how beautiful the fresh cut flowers are, how impressive the spells of dancing lights are high up in the rafters. He feels in his element--at the top of his game.

At least, until you show up.

You're an absolute vision with your hair done up and a gorgeous red dress accentuating your body. All of the confidence he had garnered suddenly dissipated at the sight of you. He had put on airs to seem elegant, but you do it so effortlessly. The decorations he had carefully picked suddenly feel inadequate, the food poor. It all seems cobbled together and holding on by a thread when compared to you.

The flow of conversation turns from the party to you instead, and though it's one of Rolan's favorite subjects, he hangs back, downing glass after glass of wine as he watches the guests flock to you and demand your attention.

It seems like you're having a great time. He drinks and watches you from across the room, face lighting up as you speak with your friends and former companions. He catches your laughter from above the music and idle chatter, and his heart sings with it. He smiles himself, face warm with wine and affection.

Your eyes fall on him from your spot amongst your friends. Rolan's smile falters and his blush deepens as he quickly turns around, busying himself with straightening the napkins on the table. His heart is racing as his hands flutter along the spread, realizing just how rude he may be coming off as. He needs to formulate a game plan-- a casual sauntering over and a few words of congratulations. He's watched countless people do it at this point, he just needs to muster up the courage--

"Hey you."

Rolan stiffens and turns around, his palms going damp with just how close you are to him.

"H-Hello," He manages out, his tongue feeling slow and sloppy from wine and nerves, "And the happiest of Birthdays to you."

Your eyes roam his face, lips pouting out just the slightest, "You haven't come to talk to me yet."

"Yes, well--" Rolan can feel himself floundering, his cheeks positively burning, "You were chatting amongst your friends--"

"You're also a friend, you know."

"Yes, well..." Rolan starts again, but he can't seem to think of a response. Instead, he draws his eyes away from you, looking out at the gathering of people, trying his damndest to slow his heart, "I hope the party is to your liking."

"It's phenomenal." Your eyes follow his, "I can't believe you did this all for me."

"It was no trouble."

You laugh softly at that, and his tail sways happily behind him.

"Liar. I can see that you went through a great deal of trouble." You pluck a flower from the table and hold it between the two of you, a smile on your lips, "This amount of fresh orchids? You're a madman."

Rolan's hand raises to take the offered flower, but he thinks better of it. "Do you like them?"

"I do." You twirl the stem between your fingers, eyes on him all the while. "What do they mean?" Rolan isn't sure if it's the wine in his system or how flustered he is, but he doesn't understand the question. You laugh again. "Every flower has a meaning, right? Do you know what orchids mean?"

"Oh, I believe they mean beauty," Rolan clears his throat, feigning his ignorance, "And strength...or something to that effect."

"Aren't they also a symbol of love?"

Rolan feels like he's been caught red-handed. He clears his throat again and straightens his shoulders, eyes anywhere but your face, "That may be the case. It's not really my area of expertise."

"I see..." He doesn't miss the disappointed note in your tone. "Well, either way, they're beautiful. Thank you, Rolan... I really appreciate all of this."

He nods, a flush of happiness warming him. "Of course."

Your eyes draw him in again, and he can see something written on your face that he can't quite figure out. It seems as if you're about to say something, but with a small shake of your head, the look passes.

You lean in close, and Rolan makes a small noise of surprise in the back of this throat. Your soft fingers brush against his chest and find the breast pocket of his suit jacket. You slide the orchid into the pocket, straightening it just right so that the delicate petals are facing out.

"There." You say, hand lingering against his ribs before finally pulling back, a flush of your own pinkening your cheeks. "Perfect." There's a moment of weighted silence before you take a step back, "I guess I should get back to the par--"

Your words are cut off as Rolan's tail slinks forward, the flared end sliding over the side of your dress, clearly looking to wrap around you. Horrified, Rolan snags his tails and shoves it behind himself.

"S-sorry," He stammers, straightening his jacket to keep his hands occupied, "Please, go enjoy yourself."

You raise an eyebrow, your cheeks still rosy. "If you want me to stay, you only need to ask."

"N-no, it's fine." Rolan's hands brush over the letter still hiding in his pocket, and his stomach flips uncomfortably. "I shouldn't keep you to myself."

You stay in place, like you want to stay. Or perhaps it's only that Rolan wants you to. Seeing you standing before him, so beautiful, so perfect, so clearly expecting something that he can't quite put his finger on...

Rolan drags in a shaky breath and digs the letter from his pocket and jerks it out to you, his claws indenting into the envelope and bending it.

"Here."

He has to will his hand to open as you take the letter. You're clearly confused by his sudden outburst, but it doesn't matter. All will be revealed to you shortly. There's no going back from this point.

Even with the enormity of what he's just set in motion, Rolan's shoulders feel lighter as he draws back, tail swishing nervously behind him.

"Please, don't read it until you're home." He inclines his head, "Now, go and enjoy your party."

You're still thoroughly confused, but you tuck the letter away and promise him you won't read it just yet. With a parting smile, you leave him and are instantly roped into another conversation.

Rolan's breathing returns to something resembling normalcy, but his heart is thundering. He did it. He really did it.

He pours himself another glass of wine, thinking over the contents of the letter. Even after countless revisions, he still finds himself cringing at just how unabashed it is. But he wants--needs-- you to know exactly how he feels. All of these grand, encompassing emotions that you bring forth in him. Just how much he loves you.

Whether you accept his confession or not...well, that's another matter.

With that monumental task out of the way, Rolan hangs back, sipping at his wine and absently petting the soft petals of the orchid you placed on his chest.

[janaem]

Let Me Rule You

Jareth x f.reader

This is chapter 1 (Entranced) | Chapter 2 (Wish)

Synopsis: She never imagined that she would once again be drawn into the enchanting world of fictional characters, a place she had not ventured into for many years. However, on a warm summer Saturday night, everything changed as she found herself captivated by the enigmatic goblin king, Jareth, while watching the mesmerizing film "Labyrinth." Word count: 5.4k (20 pages)

Warnings for this chapter: swearing and arguments

Key:Y/n= your name | L/n= last name | M/n= mom name |d/n= dog name

For visual purposes, here is the house you are living in.

Author note: It's sure been a while since I wrote something as long as this. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter as much as I did! I don't intend for this to be a slow burn, but I'm sure not rushing to the climax either. Things will definitely start to progress in the chapters to come at a reasonable pace since I'm aiming for this to be only a few chapters. I will also be publishing this on ao3 and wattpad:)

The dusk was calm, and the only movements were the swaying of the trees in the warm midsummer breeze. The dark green leaves of the trees fell sporadically on the fresh pavement street of Evansville. It is a typical upper-middle-class suburb located on the outskirts of the great city, beyond its beautiful lake. During the summer, Evansville is usually bustling with life. Kids can be seen racing on their scooters while their parents watch from the front lawn of their craftsman and single-family-style homes. Teenagers speed down Sherhigh Avenue by the Lakefront with their windows rolled down, blasting music and singing the lyrics. The beaches are always full from morning till nearly midnight.

Nestled close to the tranquil lakefront was Nordstin Street, which exuded an air of a close community feel. From afternoon till night, the neighborhood was painted with playful children and their parents' laughter on their lawns, the jingle of ice cream trucks, and frequent splashes from small backyard pools.

But once dusk faded away, it was different. The winds picked up abruptly around four thirty and leaves started dancing in a choreographed frenzy while flower petals broke free from their delicate confines. The windows of these sturdy homes rattled, adding a discordant note to the chaos. The tides of the lake were more than violent, threatening to engulf anything in their path. The crashing waves against the cluster of boulders are reminiscent of clashing symbols. 

In the heart of Nordstin, a grand single-family home exudes warmth and elegance. The gray fiber cement exterior, adorned with white accents, perfectly complements the intricately decorated gray brick roof. The beautiful porch is a work of art, supported by sturdy white stone pillars, making it both practical and stunning.

In the vast living room downstairs, an eighteen-year-old, Y/n,  lounged on the cream sectional sofa, surrounded by plush beige pillows of varying textures. With one pillow snug against her torso, she tuned into the news forecast, her gaze fixed on the screen as she observed the latest updates.

The male news reporter's voice filled the room, his words a solemn warning. "The winds are blowing at 26 miles per hour," he announced, his tone carrying a sense of urgency. "It's best to stay home if you don't need to be outside, especially away from water." 

Suddenly, a harsh voice from the kitchen shatters the tranquility, disrupting Y/n's peace of mind.

Y/n’s mother, m/n, walked urgently from the kitchen and halted at the entrance of the living room, wearing an unpleasant expression. She holds a meticulously cleaned empty Tupperware container in her left hand. 

“Y/n,  did you eat the last of the lasagna?” She asked, shaking the container so it was brought to Y/n’s attention. 

Y/n looked over at her displeased mother and replied dryly, "Yeah."

Her mother gives her a repulsed look, “Why? What makes you think it’s okay to eat up everything in this house and not leave anything left for anyone?” 

Y/n gave her a look of offense, sitting up from her leisure posture, her voice remained level, “Those were the only leftovers I ate. And you told me that I could  help myself to whatever I wanted today.”  

“That doesn’t mean you eat a whole thing of lasagna, Y/n. You can’t always think about yourself!” 

“It wasn’t even half of a container mom, relax.” 

“Don’t tell me to relax. I know what was in there.”

“Can you please stop yelling?” 

“I’m not yelling! This is how I talk.”

Already feeling fatigued from the ongoing conversation, Y/n released a small, exhausted sigh, grabbed the remote, and switched from the news channel in search of something else to ease her mind.

However, the fuming woman continued, “You could’ve called me asking if you could save me some because that is a lot for one person.”

“It wasn’t.” Y/n had completely given up.

“Okay, Y/n,” m/n scoffed, walking back into the kitchen, “This is ridiculous, you think about nobody else but yourself.  Your dad and I are already paying for your college, and the least you can do is not act selfish all the time!”

Y/n turned up the volume of the television, finally finding a show that piqued her interest. Unfortunately, she could still hear the immature mutters of her mother’s complaints.

“It’s all about Y/n, Y/n, Y/n…never thinking about anyone else…that’s sad…this is ridiculous!...eat something healthy…never seen anything like it…eighteen years old…”

“So fucking extra,” Y/n huffed, turning down the volume of the television. She throws the pillow from where it landed with the other pile of pillows on the couch and walks up to her room, considering watching a movie there instead. Maybe she’ll Facetime her friend to vent about how unbearable her mom was acting again. 

It wasn't uncommon for Y/n and her mother to engage in disputes, which seemed to arise almost daily, creating an atmosphere of constant tension. By now, Y/n was used to it, maintaining a more composed demeanor. However, there are times when she'll mirror or even exceed her mother's outbursts. Their relationship wasn't entirely negative, but it was far from fulfilling. As for her father, Y/n's connection with him was characterized by neutrality with a more manageable dynamic. He was currently on a trip with her uncle and a few friends at Turks & Caicos and won’t be back for another five days.

Y/n walked into her room, paying no attention to the insistent buzzing of her phone on her eider white desk. She sank into her plush queen-sized bed, surrounded by a sea of pillows and stuffed animals, and disappeared under the soft covers, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction.

She didn't want to get too hot under the covers in her oversized hoodie, so she shifted to a more upright position, reached under a nearby pillow, retrieved the remote, and switched on the television. The clock on the top right-hand corner of the starting page displayed 9:45 pm. She then clicked on one of the streaming apps and started browsing through the movies, uncertain of her current mood.

Y/n, with a deep appreciation for classic films, gravitated towards the 80s-90s subcategory. The screen was filled with a vibrant array of movie covers competing for her attention. As she scrolled through the seemingly endless list of movies, Y/n's eyes eagerly scanned the colorful and nostalgic offerings.

She scrolled through rows and rows of movies of all kinds, eventually getting bored and heading over to the sidebar for a better selection. There, subcategories of the 80s and 90s movies appeared: Action, Romance, Documentary, thriller…

Fantasy.

It has been a while since Y/n watched any fantasy-related films, especially older ones with effects that she found to be somewhat uncoordinated and eerie. However, curiosity got the best of her, so she clicked on it, and a series of other subcategories dropped down: Animation, Fairy Tale, Steampunk, Vampires...

Cult films.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows at the name, “Cult?” she whispered as if she was sounding it out for the first time.

As she clicked on the remote, a rush of warmth and excitement filled her chest. Her eyes eagerly scanned the screen, searching for a familiar movie. Despite having watched The Neverending Story countless times, she scrolled past it along with other movies like The Dark Crystal, Short Circuit, Big Trouble in Little China, and The Goonies. 

Yet, an inexplicable urge drove her to keep searching. After a few more minutes, she suddenly paused, as if an unseen force prevented her thumb from clicking the arrow button, and her gaze settled on a movie she had never come across before.

Jim Henson’s Labyrinth.

Y/n felt an overwhelming and unexplainable sensation coursing through her body as she gazed at the movie cover and its title. It seemed to evoke a powerful wave of nostalgia, captivating her as she fixed her eyes on the glowing screen.

She clicked on the movie, reading its summary.

“Sixteen-year-old Sarah is given thirteen hours to solve a labyrinth and rescue her baby brother Toby when her wish for him to be taken away is granted by the Goblin King Jareth.”

“Poor girl,” Y/n commented as she pressed play, where the credits roll while a white barn owl flies around. Her dog, D/n, shoved the door open with their nose and climbed into bed with her, lying at her legs.

Y/n was captivated by the film's cinematic elements and grainy aesthetic. In particular, she found the character Sarah Williams, to be incredibly gorgeous. Despite her beauty and gentle appearance, Y/n observed that Sarah's behavior didn't align, from her furious stomping into the house to her tendency to catastrophize minor inconveniences. 

Y/n grimaced at the first appearance of the goblins, all jumbled up as they awoke from their slumber. Their raspy and grating voices matched their grotesque appearances.  When they emerged in the bedroom after Sarah's brother went missing, they appeared in various parts of the room--- under the bedsheets, inside closets, behind the door. Sarah looked around frantically, unable to catch a break. Then, suddenly, the same white barn owl from the movie's beginning barges into the room through the balcony doors and lunges at Sarah. Startled, Sarah shields her eyes, and then a human shadow emerges at Sarah's feet.

The once barn owl had been mystically transformed into a human being. Y/n took in his lithe stature, which stood in a way that excluded flamboyance and regal confidence. His long, dark, and dramatic coat, adorned with intricate designs and embellishments, billowed in the wind as he made his captivating presence known on screen.

"You're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King." 

The Goblin King tilts his head, offering Sarah a proud smirk. Y/n couldn't help but notice his untamed, tousled blond locks that framed his face, enhancing his unconventional and otherworldly allure.

"Sarah…go back to your room. Play with your toys and your costumes. Forget about the baby."

His voice flowed like honey, smooth and melodious. Y/n had heard that voice before, possessed by others, yet the Goblin King made it uniquely captivating with its rich, velvety timbre.

"I've brought you a gift."

"It's a crystal, nothing more."

The Goblin King outstretched his gloved hand, and a translucent ball appeared out of thin air. Y/n's eyebrows raised in awe as he effortlessly juggled it about his hands in a way she'd never seen before. It rolled from one hand to another, from his fingertips to the palm of his hand.

"But if you turn it this way and look into it, it'll show you your dreams."

As the film played, Y/n was entirely captivated by the intricate and fantastical journey unfolding before her. She couldn't help but admire Sarah's courageous interactions with the strange and repulsive creatures, except the adorable worm at the beginning. Fairies, goblins, and monsters filled the screen, leaving Y/n in awe of the film's grungy artistry.

She started taking a liking to Hoggle, although he is a coward, he truly cared for Sarah and her wellbeing, which is the type of friend that anyone could need in such desperate times.  However, above all the characters Y/n found remarkable, the enigmatic Goblin King, Jareth, captured her attention every time he appeared.

The ballroom scene, in particular, mesmerized Y/n, watching as Jareth's intense yet affectionate gaze lingered on Sarah in a way that set Y/n's nerves ablaze, leaving her breathless. Amidst the dancing figures and smooth song, Y/n couldn't help but imagine herself in Sarah's place, enveloped in the lingering sensation of Jareth's possessive regard.  

As she watched, a soft sigh escaped her parted lips, tinged with wistfulness. She pondered what it would be like to be looked upon with such desire in a crowded room, to be longed by someone you secretly desired, as you sought them out in the hopes of meeting their eyes again. She briefly fantasized about being in Sarah's place, feeling the electricity of Jareth's presence, drawing her closer every second.

Y/n's growing desires and anticipation danced amongst the sea of masked faces and whispered secrets. What would it feel like to be carefully handled the way Jareth did Sarah at that moment as she nearly lost herself in his eyes? She wondered this throughout the rest of the film, as the last scene with Jareth played on screen.

“Just fear me. Love me. Do as I say, and I will be your slave.”

A sickening sweet feeling aroused in the very heart of Y/n’s chest, causing her breath to abruptly become shallow as if it were her first time trying to breathe. Eyebrows furrowed and lips parted, she took in the lithe being presented on screen in front of her. Everything in her room surrounding her began to fall and fade away—all she could see was him. 

“Yes,” she subconsciously whispered, “say yes.”

“You have no power over me.” Sarah’s voice rang triumphantly, as the goblin king gave in, taking the form in his owl self once again.

As the film came to a close and the end credits started rolling, Y/n sank further into her pillows and covers. 

“I feel like there should’ve been more to the film,” she said to herself, “something’s missing. I’m not satisfied.”

D/n stirred in their sleep, not paying mind to a work y/n just said. The girl sighed, seizing the remote once more to watch something different.

That was until the door flew open and her moments of peace were shattered once again by the sharpness of m/n’s tone.

“Why didn’t you help me with dinner,”  she questioned, “let alone, make dinner?”

“It’s too late for dinner,” Y/n replied, “plus I’m not hungry.”

“So, you disregard everyone else in the house after you ate two servings of lasagna?”

“I guess so.” Y/n deadpanned, refusing to fuel the fire with the rebuttal about the lasagna being enough for one person. 

“Unbelievable,”  M/n huffed, putting her hands on her hips and looking around the room, “your room’s a mess.”

“Okay.” Y/n replied dismissively.

“No, I’m being serious, Y/n. You’re going to have a roommate in college and I sure hope you two get along through all this mess.” Her mother turned on the lights abruptly, waking up d/n and irritating Y/n. 

“Mom, what the heck,” Y/n fumed, getting out of her bed, and rushing to the wall to turn off the lights, the room went dark once again, “It’s eleven o’clock!”

“I expect you to get up tomorrow and clean this room,”  m/n declared, walking to the food frame, “I’m going to bed, and I want you to think about ways you can use your time more productively.”

Before y/n could fire back, M/n was already gone, shutting the lights of her room off. 

The eighteen-year-old girl couldn't catch a break even before bedtime. M/n, while not overly strict, had this unspoken rule that Y/n should just think like her. It led to endless clashes between them, leaving Y/n feeling weighed down.

Talking to friends helped a bit, but the constant disagreements with M/n still felt like a heavy burden on Y/n's chest. Trying to find common ground with someone who seemed to see the world differently was tough, and Y/n knew there was little to do about it.

"It'll all be over in a few months," Y/n told herself while she returned to her bed, submerging into the covers once more, turning off the television, and falling into a deep sleep, searching for peace of mind.

It was well into the morning when Y/n woke up to the sound of a mourning dove, the clock just nearing 10:45 am. She knew her mother was already awake, perhaps reading a book and having breakfast in her room. She planned to say good morning to her later.

D/n, who was once at the foot of her bed, was now propped up, wagging their tail in excitement to see Y/n, who smiled as she melted into the dog’s soft and loving gaze as she ruffled their fur. 

Y/n decided that this morning she would clean up her room and place all the unnecessary things in a giveaway bag. She immediately went downstairs, grabbed a garbage bag and a glass of water, and rushed back upstairs to get to work in her considerably well-kept room.

She wasn’t doing this because she wanted to; she was doing this so she wouldn’t be greeted by a nagging mother.

D/n remained on the bed, peering over at Y/n curiously as she continued. Y/n opened the cabinet of her desk and began rummaging through items she’d touched in recent months, setting aside everything except for one particular item. Tucked away at the back of the stacks of read novels and old workbooks rested a pristine bin.

She tossed the workbooks aside, intending to dispose of them, and placed the novels on top of her desk next to her computer, calendar, and another smaller stack of books. She then reached for the bin she hadn’t seen in over a few years. It was a simple clear plastic bin with a turquoise lid.

As she eagerly lifted the lid, a rush of nostalgia engulfed her senses. Beneath the lid lay a jumble of crumpled lined papers adorned with intricate drawings, stacked on top of older notebooks, comics, and mangas, which in turn rested upon other well-loved books from her middle school days. It was a veritable treasure trove of memories that Y/n found impossible to resist. Without hesitation, she reached for the first item on top - a character sheet.

Growing up, Y/n's love for storytelling and creativity knew no bounds. She had especially displayed a remarkable talent for crafting complex characters and their elaborate backstories. While progressing in her budding artistic skills, her true passion lay in building and immersing herself in fantastical worlds. She was engrossed in the worlds of anime, mangas, and fiction which surpassed the typical interests of children her age. Her mind was a treasure trove of knowledge, brimming with insights into various fandoms, literary works, and both contemporary and classic fantasy films.

“No way!” she chuckled, flipping through a notebook full of her drawings of characters she’d seen in anime along with anime characters she'd made up. Each page was adorned with meticulous side notes containing non-canon theories, potential romantic head-canons, and intricately woven backstories that she had crafted from her boundless imagination.

As Y/n spent the next twenty minutes soaring down memory lane, she felt a sinking in her chest, leaving her feeling empty and yearning for that same sense of creativity to ignite within her once again.

She continued sifting through the pile of memories until she reached the bottom, where she found a black velvet notebook with plain white pages. Upon picking it up, she discovered that it was empty. Feeling a bit disappointed, she placed all the objects back into the bin, carefully arranging them in the small compartment.

As she did so, she recalled the various stories she had created in the past - witches, vampires, fairies, and superheroes. She especially missed the sense of accomplishment she felt upon completing each small project, as well as the innocent crushes developed on fictional characters from specific scenes and fan fiction.

Y/n missed how she didn't have a care in the world between what was real and what was fake.

She got up and ascended the stairs once more with the garbage bin at hand and placed it at the bottom of the back door. She figured that once her father came back he’d drive it over to the Salvation Army warehouse. She walked into the kitchen welcomed by the blaring sound of the blender her mom was using to make a smoothie. 

M/n stopped the blender and poured some of the smoothie into a glass cup, handing it to Y/n with a “Good morning sweetie.”

“Good morning, Mom,” Y/n replied, taking a small sip of the berry enriched smoothie, “how did you sleep?”

“Oh, I slept fine,” M/n replied, unplugging the blender and setting it aside on the kitchen’s white valley granite countertop, “the bed feels empty without your dad in it.”

“I’m sure.” Y/n agreed leaning against the counter and taking another sip.

“Did you sleep alright?” M/n asked.

Y/n nodded.

“Good,” M/n noted, about to sip her smoothie once more; she then stopped, “Where’s D/n?”

“Upstairs,” Y/n replied.

“You should always take your dog out for a walk in the morning.” M/n inputted, setting her smoothie down.

“I know, but she was asleep and I was cleaning my room and disposing of things I didn’t need.”

“So, you were up this entire time and didn’t bother to walk your dog or make us any breakfast?”

Y/n studied her mother’s furrowed expression, not sure of what to say.

“Your room would have waited, Y/n. You need to start—”

“Mom, I don’t wanna hear it, it’s too early.” Y/n interrupted, feeling her boiling blood course through her veins.

M/n disregarded her daughter's advances, “It’s nearly noon, Y/n and we’ve barely eaten. I need you to start thinking and be able to multitask and take the initiative. What you’re doing right now won’t get you far in your career.”

Y/n had heard M/n repeat this thousands of times, using as many things to say back in previous times, Y/n was now worn out. 

“Whatever.” She uttered making her way to the kitchen’s exit.

“Excuse me?” M/n’s tone was sharper now.

“Nothing, Mom.”

“Y/n, I tell you these things so you can become more mature. The behavior has gotten too far. You’re eighteen years old and it’s ridiculous the way you act at such a grown age. I constantly have to repeat myself—”

“Then don’t,” Y/n argued.

“Then give me a reason not to,” M/n fired back, “I’ve never seen your age treat her mother the way you do and act selfishly and dismissively.”

Y/n sighed, “This is so unnecessary. All of this over breakfast.”

“You belittle everything, Y/n. Grow up.”

“You can relax now.”

“Grow up.”

“Telling me to grow up won’t do anything.” 

“What I’m saying, sweetie is that you–”

“Okay, mom. I get it. I’ll do better.” Y/n surrendered, not wanting to ignite the flame any further. She was already getting a sickening feeling in her stomach.

She exited the kitchen and rushed up the stairs and back into her room, shutting the door behind her. She set her smoothie down on her desk and paced her room feeling a lump forming in her throat. 

“It’s like she always has to start a problem no matter what I do!” She hiccuped feeling her eyes sting with tears. 

“Can’t she just let me live for once, God, for fucking once!” 

Tears streamed down her face, hanging at her chin, she looked outside at the clear blue sky with the sun well overhead.

“Y/n! Walk your dog!” Her mother yelled from downstairs.

“Okay!” Y/n’s seething voice cracked, “shut up.” she muttered sniffling.

“Now!”

“Give me a minute!”

More tears started spilling down Y/n’s face. She sobbed and hiccuped quietly, continuing to look out her window, which was only a few feet away. Her heart was aching, and her throat was twisted in a knot of sorrow; her chest heaved with exhaustion. She started to cry harder after she attempted to swallow her tears; she knew M/n was going to notice her tear-stricken face. 

Y/n grabbed her phone and trudged over to her bed and plopped down on her back, sighing in defeat. She figured that before she walked D/n she would at least distract herself from the pang of sorrow that knocked at her chest. 

She opened her web browser and typed in “labyrinth 1986,” and thousands of search results appeared, including links to websites, articles, videos, and even books and comics.

The girl's eyes widened in disbelief as she clicked on the first image that showed the same book with a striking red cover that Sarah had been carrying at the park.

“No way, there’s an official novelization of the labyrinth,” she gasped as she further searched. To her surprise, there were comics and mangas as well.

The pain Y/n was feeling suddenly subsided, replaced by a sense of wonder and excitement as she eagerly read through the summaries and reviews for each comic, book, and archived piece available.

“Finally back in print and for the first time in hardcover is the novelization of LABYRINTH written by A.C.H. Smith and personally overseen by Jim Henson. This is the first in a series of novels from the Jim Henson Archives.”

“Labyrinth: Coronation is a 12-issue comic book series written by Simon Spurrier and illustrated by Daniel Bayliss, published by Archaia from 2018 to 2019. It is a prequel to the 1986 film Labyrinth that takes place in 18th-century Venice and tells the story of how Jareth became the Goblin King.”

“You’re lying” Y/n muttered, enticed by the various series of books presented before her, she clicked on the official novelization first, seeing that it was available in her local bookstore for $30, seeing that there was only one in stock, she made a reservation to pick it up today on her walk with D/n.

“I have to have it.” She said putting in her online payment, which had been successfully authorized. 

Thank you for your purchase! The book you have requested will be available within 20 minutes. You have two days to pick it up.

“Oh, shit I gotta go.” Y/n gasped frantically getting out of her bed. She rushed to her closet and grabbed a pair of gray sweats and a simple scoop navy blue cami top, throwing on white socks. She grabbed her mini purse with her wallet inside and made her way down the stairs, D/n  followed.

“I’m going to the library, D/n is coming with me,” Y/n said as she passed the living room where M/n sat on her computer. 

“Okay. Take the car of course.” M/n replied in deep concentration on whatever was on screen. 

Y/n unlatched the garage door, the sound of its metal creaking filling the air as she stepped inside. She slipped on her comfortable slides and made her way to her car, with D/n following closely behind her. The afternoon sun poured into the garage as she settled into the driver's seat, and D/n took their place in the passenger seat. Y/n rolled down the windows, feeling the warm summer breeze on her skin as she carefully reversed out of the garage and onto the driveway.

She made her way down Nordstin Street, making a right onto Seems Street, she marveled at the vibrant activity around her, knowing that the lakefront was only a couple of streets away. It was nearly one o’clock, and the streets were alive with the energy of people going about their day.

It didn't take long before Y/n reached the library. Finding a snug parking spot near the entrance.

She turned to D/n, letting all the windows up, leaving the passenger’s side slightly cracked.

“I’ll be right back, the window will be cracked for you,” she said leaning in and giving her sweet dog a peck on the nose.

She quickly exited the car and walked up to the library and opened the dark wooden doors, where she paid no attention to her surroundings as she marched straight to the front desk, which was occupied by a lady cashier. They greeted each other warmly.

“My name is Y/n L/n and I purchased Jim Henson’s Labyrinth today.” She spoke clearly. 

As the lady behind the counter heard Y/n's request, she paused, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she searched for the book. With a few swift clicks to confirm the order, she leaned down and carefully retrieved the treasure Y/n had sought. The rich, crimson book with the elegant golden title "Labyrinth" embossed on its cover was presented before the younger girl, its allure captivating her gaze.

“You’re all set Miss L/n, have a good day!” She chirped sweetly. 

“You too!” Y/n returned as she made her way to the front door, her heart hammering in her chest in anticipation as she made her way back to the car. Luckily, there was a park just across the street from the library.

Y/n opened the car door and let D/n out, the leash making a jingling sound as the dog shook its fur. Y/n shut the door and grabbed hold of the leash, holding the book in another hand and the two made their way to Gillson Park.

Gillson Park was one of the more popular parks in Evansville because it was known for its stunning natural landscapes that are cherished by both locals and visitors alike. Characterized by lush greenery, serene ponds reflecting the sky, and winding walking trails on steep hills. Tall trees provide a cool respite from the summer sun, while colorful blossoms add vibrancy to the surroundings. Many may describe it as a meadow away from the bustling suburban life. 

Y/n found a nice bench by an open field, letting D/n’s leash to wander about the grass and flowers. She propped herself so that she was lying across the bench comfortably, her elbow resting on the arms of the bench. She opened the first page and began to embark on her reading journey.

“Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City, to take back the child you have stolen.” She read aloud, attempting to capture the determination in Sarah’s voice, she chuckled to herself.   

“For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great…”

An Owl glided over the sky unnoticed as it emerged amongst Gillson Park. A creature of pure elegance in the backdrop of the midday scenery. His plumage, a pristine canvas of a bold white, seems to shimmer with an otherworldly luminescence, catching the last rays of the afternoon sun like a cascade of fire woven into feathers. He settled on a branch of the tree that was hovered over Y/n, as she continued to focus on the compelling words in the book. 

His large, dark eyes were fixed on her as she sat with rapt concentration. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes moved swiftly across the crisp, white pages. Her hands were holding the book motionless on the crimson red cover as if she was hesitant to disturb the stillness of the moment.

The Owl’s trance was interrupted by the barking of D/n, his heart shaped head turned to the direction of the galloping dog making its way to Y/n, who looked up from her book, set it on her lap, and petted D/n softly.

“This is a good book so far, D/n,” she said with a smile, “I appreciate its detail.” she leaned down and ruffled the dog’s fur, smothering her pet with the love and affection they deserved. 

Unbeknownst to them, the owl had been silently observing Y/n's every move from the highest branch of the nearby tree. Y/n shut the book and got up from the bench to grab D/n's leash. As Y/n closed the book and rose from the bench, the owl maintained its vigilant watch, its piercing eyes following their every step. Y/n secured D/n's leash, and the two began their stroll back towards the library's parking lot, the owl gracefully gliding from tree to tree, never losing sight of them.

Once both were in the car, the owl perched on the concrete edge of the library's roof, its keen gaze fixed on the departing car as it merged into the occupied street. 

Only when the car disappeared from view did the owl spread its feathered wings and take to the sky again, disappearing into the horizon.

[literaila]

HI! Would you want to write about tasm peter and a reader who is in a band?? I have realized on character ai that I can just tell characters that I'm in a band and I love to see their reaction. I just love the idea of being one of those cool people that play and sing

THANK YOU!!

singing

tasm!peter x reader

a/n: i know nothing about bands but i do know lots about singing in the shower

*

peter enjoys standing by the sink—pretending to brush his teeth—while you’re singing in the shower (even though you deny it every time he brings it up). he’ll run the water softly and take extra precautions over the health of his teeth. his dentist will be pleased.

he’s used to your voice. you sing everything.

you sing while you’re cleaning, or when you’re cooking dinner for the two of you. you’re always singing along to buzzing music when he meets you at your favorite coffee shop every thursday for lunch. you sing when putting your shoes on, and when dabbing at a fresh cut on his face.

you make up ridiculous songs about the things you’re doing, and laugh when peter walks in the room like you hadn’t noticed he was there. you change your voice and dance along and, honestly, peters not even sure if you’re aware you’re doing any of it.

he loves it all; if he knew as much music as you did, or was any less tone deaf, he would gladly sing along, and for once be apart of the sweet serenading rather than just flushing every time he knows you’re singing a song about him.

peter could listen to you and your voice and your silly little songs for days on end.

but he’s come to love you singing his name the most.

when you’re the first to wake up in the morning, and peter can feel you hum his name onto the skin of his cheek while you kiss him. when he comes home from a late night and you’re still awake, still happy to see him, and smile while you sing like he’s been away for longer than just a few hours.

when you’re messing with him, sing-songing peter just so he’ll frown at you. or when he interrupts you in the middle of your singing, his name becoming a slightly off pitch, slightly surprised exclamation.

if peter walks in the door and you’re not singing, then something is very wrong.

he’s listening to you now, adding toothpaste to his toothbrush for the second time. just to be safe.

when he hears the water turn off, he frowns and a dribble of minty spit falls from his mouth.

you startle when you open the shower door, eyes bright and skin glowing from the water. “peter,” you say—hum—soft and harsh. “why are you just standing there?”

peter mumbles something incoherent through his toothbrush.

you shake your head, but your lip twitches. “we talked about this. i’m tired of having to pick up new toothpaste every other week.”

peter grumbles.

“if you really miss me that much,” you tell him, purposefully bumping into him while you grab lotion from the cabinet, “you can just join me.”

peter spits and frowns. “you don’t sing when we shower together.”

he watches you glance at him from the corner of your eyes.

“i think you mean to say that i don’t sing in the shower ever, peter. it’s okay, we all get confused.”

“i’ve been standing here for the past ten minutes. i heard your rendition of it’s all coming back to me.”

you tilt your head at him, reaching a moisturized hand to touch his temple. “did you hit your head a bit too hard yesterday?”

peter laughs. “i don’t know why you’re so weird about it. i love it.”

“because you’re confused, peter. that’s why.”

“im confused,” he nods solemnly, “about why you continue to deny this.”

you sigh dramatically, turning back to the mirror and beginning to hum again—which peter might point out just proves his point, but he’s a bit too distracted to notice.

he could listen to your voice all day, or he could stare at you, like right now. watching your eyelashes brush your cheek and your smile reach the tip of your nose. he could just admire the slight glow of your skin under the light, or the amusement you’re trying to keep out of your eyes.

he could just wait for you to sing his name again.

“yes, peter?” you ask, after he’s been staring at you for thirty seconds too long.

“i was just wondering if i could join your band?”

your brows furrow inward and you laugh at him, subconsciously leaning your body towards him, and indiscreetly staring back at him in the mirror.

“i play a mean triangle.”

you wince. “ooh, yikes. we just hired a new triangle player. i’ll let you know how it works out.”

peter pretends to think for a moment. “it’s also been said that i’m pretty good with my mouth—“

you push him, laughing as he pushes you back. “that so?”

he nods.

“are you sure?” you ask, sounding doubtful. peters brows furrow at your tone.

he starts to say something but you cut him off. “you know,” you say, voice sly and soft. “we do have one position we need to fill.”

“what?”

“a new muse, of course.”

*

[mrsmikaelsxn]

ABBA Marathon

masterlist

pairing: father sirius black x daughter reader

warnings: like one curse word, tooth rotting fluff, sirius being an icon, literally just a very fun read that i hope has you smiling in your bed

summary: you meet sirius, play chess with sirius, and have an abba singing and dance party with sirius (sirius meeting his daughter post azkaban - requested by anon)

a/n: im so obsessed with this idk i wish sirius was my dad, also sorry this has been in my inbox for so long

song: waterloo - abba

Being Sirius Black's daughter was quite tiring. But also thrilling. Especially since it was your third year when he escaped Azkaban.

Your best friends are Harry, Hermione, and Ron. You couldn't have asked for better ones.

With the rumors of Sirius coming after you and Harry, people had been cold towards you because of your father, not that you could control who your father was.

Right now you were outside, taking a walk in some fresh air. Suddenly a dog comes up to you and barks once. "Why, hello there," you coo and bend down. The dog happily wags his tail and jumps onto her. "Aww, you're so cute!" 

You pet the dog, who leans into your hand. "You are very skinny," you frowned. "Follow me, I'm sure Hagrid has some food I can give you." 

As you two head down, you get near the Whomping Willow. As you pass by, the dog suddenly spins and before you could blink the dog was biting your pants, tugging you to the tree. 

"Um, excuse me, Mr. Dog, but these are new pants." You then get very close to the tree, "Er- I don't think this is a good idea," you say nervously as the branches of the tree start to move. 

The dog looks up in alert and quickly tugs you into some type of hole that they slid down into. "Ah!" The dog jumps up and pulls on your pants again. "Where are we going?"

Finally, you come into an empty abandoned room. "What is this place..."

You walk over and pick up a dusted book, blowing on the cover before putting it back down. You turn around and her eyes go wider than they've ever been. "AHH!" you scream.

"AHH!" 

"AHH!"

"SHH!"  

You cover your mouth and stare at the one and only Sirius Black.

Your father.

"What the fuck," you whisper to yourself. "Oh my Merlin, I'm too young to die! I- I haven't gotten to slap Malfoy yet, I haven't been able to prank Snape! I ha-"

"Prank Snape?" Sirius pipes up. 

"I'm going to die. Oh, Godric," you pace while frantically whispering to yourself. "I'm in the same room with Sirius Black, alone."

He frowns at being called by his name instead of Dad, which it should be.

"Relax, love, I'm not going to kill you."

You spin and face the man, "You're not?"

"No."

"Then why am I here? For giggles and a tea party?"

"One, you're about to find out. Two, I don't like tea," Sirius makes a face. 

"Huh, me neither. Now, go on, tell me why I'm in an abandoned room with an escaped convicted murderer," you cross your arms. 

"I'm not a murderer. I'm innocent, I swear."

You narrow her eyes, "How so?"

"Well, it started when I first got to Hogwarts..."

You wipe the tears from under your eyes, "That is the saddest thing I have ever heard."

Sirius waves his hand, "Now that you know what happened, you believe me right?"

"Of course!" You throw her arms around the man, who relaxes into his daughters hold. It's been a long time since he has had human contact.

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid you can't tell anyone about me just yet."

"Why?! If I tell them you're inno-"

He smiles sadly, "I'm not so sure they would believe you."

"But-" Sirius shakes his head. You sigh, "Well, are you going to be staying here?"

He nods, "I guess. It's a bit dirty though, if you ask me."

"I can fix that," you grin. He raises his eyebrows in curiosity. You takes out your wand and flick it. The room starts moving and the dust all collects together before flying out the window. The furniture vanishes and new ones appear. Pictures form on the wall and the room cleans up into a brand new, clean room.

"Wow, impressive. Thank you," Sirius says. You nod and flick your wrist again. In the blink of an eye, Sirius is freshly cleaned and looks well taken care of. His eyes almost water at your kindness. "I truly can't thank you enough."

"That's better, isn't it?" You smile proudly at your work. "Oh! You need food," you think for a moment, "I'll just bring you down daily meals."

"I can't ask you to do that, it's too much."

"It's a good thing you don't have to ask. You mentioned your friend... Remus Lupin." Sirius nods and gestures for you to continue, "He's a Professor this year... anyway, is he a..."

"A...?"

"Werewolf," you say hesitantly. 

Sirius' face goes a bit pale, "What makes you think that?"

"His boggart was a moon, and he has lots of light scars."

"Would it change your opinions about him?"

"Not at all! If anything I think it makes him even better." Sirius nods his head. "Yes... he's a werewolf?" 

He nods again, "You're a bright witch."

"Thank you," you beam. You looks at your watch, "I have about twenty minutes before my friends start looking for me. In the meantime.... Wizard's Chess?"

"Yes! Checkmate!" You jump up from your seat in excitement. "I won!"

"That's not fair! You only won because I'm rusty," Sirius crosses his arms and sinks into the couch. 

"Sure, sure. Rematch tomorrow?" you ask. 

"Rematch tomorrow," you two shake hands and you go to the exit. 

"I'll bring you some food in a little while."

"Bye, darling," he waves, watching you leave. 

A few weeks later, you were on your daily trip to see Sirius. You snuck in through the Whomping Willow, you also learned how to avoid the branches. 

"Hello?!" you shout. 

"Over here!"

You follow his voice and see him digging through a closet. "What are you looking for?"

"I- that's... a good question." He stands up and clears his throat, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"It has come to my attention that you recently made an appearance in the castle."

"Mhm."

"And you didn't inform me about it beforehand," you gives him a blank stare.

"I wanted to, but it took a while to plan and I wanted it to be a surprise," he grins with jazz hands.

"You do realize that I could have helped you in, right?"

"Yeah, but I didn't want to risk you getting in trouble," he frowns. 

"I appreciate your concern," you salute him and he does it back with a chuckle.

"What's in the bag?" He nods to the one hanging on your arm. 

"This, my furry father-"

"That was a horrible joke."

"-Is a record player!" You excitedly pull it out of the bag and place it on a table. 

"A what?"

"A record player. It plays music. Want to see?!"

"As if I would say no to music."

You reach into the bag and take out some vinyl records. "I picked ones that I think you would enjoy best. There is a supergroup that I thought you would really like. They're called ABBA. They're one of my favorites." 

You set up the record player and place one of the vinyls in. You grin at the man as you hit the play button.

"YOU CAN DANCE, YOU CAN JIVE! HAVING THE TIME OF YOUR LIFE! SEE THAT GIRL, WATCH THAT SCENE! DIGGING THE DANCING QUEEN!"

You and Sirius continue to shout the lyrics into your fake microphones as you hop around the room with the song blasting. When the room was first set up by you, you placed several privacy and silencing spells, so you two didn't have to worry about anyone hearing anything.

"YOU ARE THE DANCING QUEEN! YOUNG AND SWEET, ONLY SEVENTEEN-"

"GIMME, GIMME, GIMME A MAN AFTER MIDNIGHT! WON'T SOMEBODY HELP ME CHASE THE SHADOWS AWAY?" you sing while bouncing on the couch. 

"GIMME, GIMME, GIMME A MAN AFTER MIDNIGHT! TAKE ME THROUGH THE DARKNESS TO THE BREAK OF THE DAY!" Sirius continues as he walks and dances as if he were on a stage. 

"MAMMA MIA, HERE I GO AGAIN! MY, MY, HOW CAN I RESIST YOU?"

"MAMMA MIA, DOES IT SHOW AGAIN! MY, MY, JUST HOW MUCH I'VE MISSED YOU?" 

Sirius and you hold hands as you jump together and flip your hair with matching goofy grins. 

"YES, I'VE BEEN BROKENHEARTED! BLUE SINCE THE DAY WE PARTED!"

"WHY, WHY DID I EVER LET YOU GO?"

"BUT NOW IT ISN'T TRUE! NOW EVERYTHING IS NEW!" you grab your wand to create two pairs of light up sunglasses, you toss one to Sirius and you both put them on.

"AND ALL I'VE LEARNED HAS OVERTURNED! I BEG OF YOUUU!" Sirius sings. 

"DON'T GO WASTING YOUR EMOTION! LAY ALL YOUR LOVE ON MEEEE!" you shout together. 

With a flick of your wrist, you - much to Sirius' surprise - somehow managed to have a disco ball with neon lights come from the ceiling. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sit in the Gryffindor common room. 

"I wonder what she's doing right now," Harry looks thoughtfully.

"She's been leaving a lot recently," comments Hermione, biting nervously on her nail.

"I hope she's okay," says Ron, "Sirius Black could be out there."

"LAST NIGHT I WAS TAKING A WALK ALONG THE RIVER, AND I SAW HIM TOGETHER WITH A YOUNG GIRL!"

"AND THE LOOK THAT HE GAVE HER MADE ME SHIVER! 'CAUSE HE ALWAYS USE TO LOOK AT ME THAT WAY!" Sirius grabs your hand and twirls you, causing you to laugh. 

"AND I THOUGHT, MAYBE I SHOULD WALK RIGHT UP TO HER AND SAY 'AH-HA-HA, IT'S A GAME HE LIKES TO PLAYYY!" you and Sirius shimmy dance to each other. 

You jump and freeze before breaking out in another dance and sing the chorus. "LOOK INTO HIS ANGELEYES, ONE LOOK AND YOU'RE HYPNOTISED! HE'LL TAKE YOUR HEART AND YOU MUST PAY THE PRICE!"

"SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS ALL THE TIME!"

"I TRY TO CAPTURE EVERY MINUTE!"

"THE FEELING IN IT, SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS ALL THE TIME!"

"DO I REALLY SEE WHAT'S IN HER MIND, EACH TIME I'M CLOSE TO KNOWING, SHE KEEPS ON GROWING!"

"SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS ALL THE TIME!"

"SOMETIMES I WISH THAT I COULD FREEZE THE PICTURE!"

"AND SAVE IT FROM THE FUNNY TRICKS OF TIME!"

Sirius and you wrap an arm around each other's waist as they sway to the music. 

"SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERSSSSS!"

Sirius then starts pretending like he's playing the guitar to the music making your giggle. 

You and Sirius fall back, panting, onto the couch. Sirius turns to you and gives you a high five. 

"Oh my Merlin! That was the most fun I had in forever!"

"Me too, kid. Thank you. I don't know the last time I felt like that."

"You're welcome," you bumps his shoulder. "Oh! And you can keep everything, I have my own."

"Really?"

"Mhm, I'll bring you more vinyls I have. We can have more singing and dancing parties like this."

"I'm looking forward to it." He looks at a watch you got him, "I think it may be time for you to head back."

You look in a mirror on the wall, "My hair is messy from flipping it."

"I can help you with it, if you want," he smiles at you. 

"Really?" He nods. "Thanks!"

Sirius gets up and grabs a brush, you turn on the couch so he is behind you as he brushes through your hair. "I'm going to try to do that braid you taught me."

"Here's a hair tie," you take one off your wrist. 

He struggles at first but manages to do a good, tight braid. "Done!" Sirius claps his hands. 

You look in the mirror, "Wow, you have a good teacher."

He shrugs, "Meh, she's alright." You slap the back of his head, "Okay, okay! Not the hair! Okay, I have the best teacher." 

You nod happily and grab your bag, "Bye, Dad."

"See you soon, y/n," he winks.

[leaderpinhead]

Malleus - Pen Pals

Prompt: Letter or Package

Malleus stopped everything when a housekeeper silently presented a letter to him. He plucked the envelope from the gaudy tray and retreated into his room. Flipping the envelope over in his hand, an unfiltered smile stretched across his lips. The handwritten Hornton (Also Known As Lord Malleus Draconia, Prince of Briar Valley and Majestic Fire Breathing Lizard) would have identified the sender even if she had not signed her name above the return address. 

After making himself comfortable at his desk, Malleus deftly sliced open the envelope with his silver letter opener. He pulled a thick parchment of paper out along with a small stack of photos. Putting aside the photos, he eagerly unfolded the paper and skimmed the child of man’s scratchy handwriting. 

Dear Hornton,  Firstly, I have been informed by Sebek that I have grievously offended your sensibilities by mailing my letters at the attention of “Hornton” instead of “Lord Malleus Draconia, Prince of Briar Valley and Majestic Fire Breathing Lizard of Twisted Wonderland.” For that I apologize and hope your sensibilities have been healed accordingly with the correction you have likely seen.  (Sebek is currently having a frothing seizure from reading over my shoulder. The next letter you receive from him will probably be an entire rant on my atrocious behavior. I’ve included a photo for your entertainment.)  Other than that, we have all been enjoying the last few weeks of our classes. Grim and Ace managed to cover an entire lab room with slime last week after they fought over our cauldron. Something fell in, and Ace still refuses to tell me what it was despite me threatening him with a bucket of fresh oysters. Professor Crewel decided Deuce and I were innocent, so we got to make fun of Ace and Grim cleaning the slime. Speaking of Deuce, he and Jack had a track meet last week against RSA. They totally decimated all the RSA guys’ times! Jack took first with a record-breaking time in the 100m dash, and Deuce was right behind him. The spelldrive game we had last week against them didn’t go so well, but Epel has been walking on clouds ever since he scored a goal from centerfield. It would have won the game if an unfair penalty hadn’t extended the game and let RSA score again. Other than critiquing my letter writing skills, Sebek has been helping me with a few new martial arts moves. He insists I need to master them as quickly as possible because of my weak, magicless existence. My goal is to have him flat on his back by the end of the month. I will send photo evidence of his shock when I succeed. How have you been? Sebek sings nothing but praises (of course), but Silver said in his last letter that he’s found you wandering the castle late at night. Have you been getting enough sleep? You know, spring break is right around the corner. I'll gladly orchestrate an elaborate kidnapping if you need one (and I’ll bring Lilia out of retirement to let me stand on his shoulders while I climb through your window). Kalim could set us up in Silk City for a few days, or we can find a beach to lay out on and pretend politics don’t exist. We can even pop into the Sunset Savana and heckle Leona a bit. I’ll give you the chance to choose while I start drawing out my dramatic siege on your castle.  Write back to me soon!  Yuu 

Malleus chuckled at the small smiley face Yuu had drawn beside her name. Setting the letter on his desk, he carefully spread out the photos she had included. He matched the photo of Deuce and Jack in their Track Club uniforms, both of them grinning widely as they held up gold and silver medallions. The photo of Grim and Ace covered in green slime and glaring into the camera made him chuckle. So did the photo of a crouched Sebek clutching his head, mainly because Yuu had scribbled He’s going into Draconia shock in the corner of the photo. The action shot of Epel sending a spelldrive disc across the field —his expression of fierce determination highlighted by the fiery sparks from the disc—impressed Malleus and reminded him of the three years he had played spelldrive on the campus. 

His smile softened when he picked up the last photo. Even when he still attended Night Raven College, the prefect had been averse to having her photo taken. She had preferred snapping photos of everyone else with her Ghost Camera, though Malleus had seen her occasionally give into taking a picture with Diamond using his phone. 

Ever since they began their letter exchanges—the year after his internships concluded and he returned to Briar Valley—she had included at least one photo of herself. At first, they had been candid shots taken by another: her caught mid-yawn, her tiredly staring at Vargas, her hovering over a cauldron. After a few months, the photos had become more deliberate. The photos were taken from an angle that clearly indicated she took them herself, usually to show him the myriad of activities she participated in. She had even taken a picture of herself in the mirror to show him her Halloween costume that year. 

This photo was a simple self-portrait of her pointing at a cluster of tiny sprouts peeking out of the ground. There was no note written on the photo, so he concluded the sprouts were from the seeds he had mailed to her a month earlier. She had insisted he send them despite him adamantly arguing it was a plant only capable of growing in Briar Valley. She was clearly set on proving him wrong as indicated by her wide eyes and raised brows. 

Chuckling at her cheekiness, Malleus reached for a quill and blank sheet of parchment. After dipping the tip into a jar of ink, Malleus began writing with a light flourish in each stroke. 

Child of Man,  You need not worry how you address your letters. I have informed the staff any letters from Night Raven College are to be delivered to me immediately. I shall reiterate this to Sebek when  his next missive arrives.  (While I enjoy seeing yours and Sebek’s friendship grow, I must caution you not to push him too far. He will one day be at my side as a trusted retainer, and I require his wits be intact.)  I see that your final year on the campus is shaping to be a very lively one. Though I must insist you share with me your current accomplishments as well. Have you attained the proper paperwork to begin your internship with Professor Crewel next year? Are you still enjoying the presence of other students in Ramshackle Dorm? Has Crowley requested your assistance since solving the mystery of Octavinelle’s missing fishes?  As for your inquiry, I will simply say learning all I can from my grandmother is quite a feat. She wishes to retire soon, and I understand her desire to wipe her hands of the council. I strive to attain the knowledge and practical skills to take her place.  But on the off chance a dastardly human managed to climb through my window and force my departure from the castle for a time...I feel as if I would almost be required to oblige.  Awaiting your dramatic kidnapping,  M. D. 

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) || Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b (I Sing A Song of Love) || Chapter 15c (You Can Do This If You Try) || Chapter 16 (Let That Feeling Grab You Deep Inside || Chapter 17A: Never Tear Us Apart || Chapter 17B: It’s Tough To Be Somebody, And It’s Hard Not To Fall Apart  || Chapter 17C: I'm Wishing, Lord, That I Was Stoned ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 18: Turn The Page

New York City || September 1988

So you walk into this restaurant All strung out from the road And you feel the eyes upon you As you're shakin' off the cold You pretend it doesn't bother you But you just want to explode

-- “Turn The Page,” Bob Seger (1971) [click here to listen]

Claire Fraser took a long drink from the glass of water beside the bathroom sink. Closed her eyes. Counted five deep breaths.

Bob Seger’s voice flowed through the tiny portable radio that she and Jamie took everywhere on the road.

Here I am, on the road again There I am, up on the stage There I go playin' the star again There I go, turn the page

She opened her eyes. Listened to the man sing so passionately, so desperately, about his exhaustion and heartbreak from living in the spotlight. Touring relentlessly. Feeling displaced in his own life.

“Claire?”

Jamie poked his head around the door, humming along with the song.

Not for the first time, Claire was grateful that the tour had wildly exceeded all expectations – the private plane instead of tour buses; limos to and from the gig; and hotel suites that were so large they typically had two bathrooms.

Not that they minded sharing, of course – but living on top of each other could be hard sometimes. On nights like these, she needed her own space.

And now, Jamie met her eyes in the mirror.

Enjoyed his surprise.

“What…you…”

She turned to face him. Took a moment to admire him in all black – the dress shirt that she had ironed for him this morning, black jeans, black belt with silver studs, boots. The leather jacket whose inside pocket she tucked a love note into every morning.

She raised her arms. “What do you think?”

The red dress wasn’t something she had intended to buy, that afternoon in Miami when the band needed a few hours with Colum to discuss the European leg of next year’s tour (“the leg owed to the fans, after the shit Jamie pulled last year before he got clean,” he had reminded them). She had kindly suggested to Charlotte and Molly – Angus’ groupie girlfriends – that rather than spend another afternoon inside, they explore the shopping mall attached to the hotel. Jamie had insisted that one of the roadies go with them, to deal with any photographers or aggressive fans – but Claire had only smiled and said that it would be fine.

She had been correct, of course. It was such a breath of fresh air to walk up and down the long corridors, eat Cuban sandwiches in the food court, browse the selections in the department stores and specialty boutiques. Anonymous. To interact with sales clerks not as the wife/girlfriend of the biggest rock musicians in the world – but simply as three women having a nice afternoon out together.

And, truth be told, it was good to get some time with Charlotte and Molly. They asked ��� respectfully – about her relationship with Jamie, and she in turn asked – respectfully – about their relationship with Angus. Watched them tear up when Charlotte started talking about the uncertainty before them when the tour ended, and when Molly wondered whether they would ever be enough.

Not quite knowing what to say, Claire absently pulled through a clearance rack – and then…

“Ohmygod Claire!” Molly exclaimed. “You have to try that one on!”

Startled, Claire focused on the sleeveless, ankle-length red dress.

“Jamie will freak when he sees that on you!” Charlotte smiled, shifting an armful of lingerie to look closer.

Claire pursed her lips. Thinking.

“Come on, Claire! You need to look like the rockstar wife you are.” Molly grabbed the dress. “Let’s go try it on. Come on!”

Initially she had only wanted to placate Molly. But when she saw herself in the dressing room mirror, she immediately knew how Jamie would react.

Three weeks later, she was correct.

She swirled slightly, enjoying the feel of the fabric swishing around her calves. The bite of cold air on her bare chest and belly. And the incredulous look on Jamie’s face, eyes dark.

“It’s very…red,” he stammered. “Are you wearing a bra?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s our first event as a couple. And as husband and wife. We need to make a splash.”

He swallowed. Stepped closer to take her elbows, thumbs stroking the soft skin.

“I suppose. Every man will have his eyes on you tonight.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll only feel yours.”

His eyes darkened. “I like knowing, that at any time tonight, I can just do this…” One hand trailed across the fabric of the dress, over her breast, until it reached the strip of exposed skin spanning her neck to her navel. “And then this…” His thumb edged under the flap, teasing the underside of her breast, in the way he knew would drive her absolutely crazy.

Her lips parted. His eyes locked on hers – taking in the red tones sweeping her eyes and cheeks, and her scarlet lipstick, and the silver hoops hanging in her ears.

“Can we just stay here tonight?” he asked softly, not exactly joking.

She shook her head. “Jamie, Lou fucking Reed came to the show at Madison Square Garden last night and not only insisted on meeting you and complimenting your music, he invited us to his party tonight. He’s had his own addiction issues, he’s not a dummy. And we’ve talked about this, we can’t avoid parties forever. It will be good for all those people to see you.”

He removed his thumb from her breast, and bridged the gap between them to lean his forehead against hers. Without words, their hands found each other, twining and grasping.

As was their habit now, he pressed their thumbs together. The C she had tattooed at the base of his thumb, mingling with the J he had tattooed at the base of her thumb.

“It’s going to be so hard, Claire. Not that I don’t want to see people, or show you off, or help you get to know them.” He swallowed. “I’ve been to these kinds of parties before. Huge open bar. Waitresses in low cut dresses handing around trays of drugs like it was a tray of snacks. People doing lines on the tables. People…fucking in the bathroom.”

She swallowed. “I’ll stay with you the whole time. You can be my excuse to stop talking to someone if it gets too awkward. Or to say no, if something like that is offered to you. You know I don’t care, right?”

He nodded. Hands shaking.

“Do you want to call Raymond?”

He shook his head. “Not right now. Tomorrow, definitely. Let me see how I get through this. Maybe we agree on a few points for tonight?”

“Anything. I love you.”

He smiled. “OK. I’ve got gum in my pocket – that will keep us from getting too thirsty. And if we need something to drink, we’ll ask for club soda, and we’ll watch the drink poured in front of us. I don’t care if it’s awkward. I can’t trust.”

She released one hand from his grip, and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Got it. And you know it’s easier if we touch, right? Hold my hand. Put your hand on my hip. I don’t care. I’ll be right there with you. And you’ll be right there for me.”

He stepped closer, and she parted her legs, and he stood between them. Pressing her hips against the bathroom counter.

“If we get separated, Jamie, I promise I’ll stay true to my sobriety, and to you.”

“I promise the same. I only want you.”

“I’ll touch my letter on you. Will you?”

“Yes,” he swallowed. Kissing the arch of her eyebrow. “That will help. But let’s also agree on a signal, if one of us feels need for love. And the need to go.”

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. Breath so warm on his lips. “How about…” She tapped the center of his chest. “Touch here. Close to your heart. That’s where I feel need, when I want to love you. Is that where you feel it, too?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “It pools here. Like fire. God, I need to kiss you, Claire. Please let me kiss you.”

She turned her face away, smiling. “I don’t want you to smudge my lipstick. And I want you to hold that thought all night, Jamie. Hold on to that pool of fire. Can you do that for me?”

She felt his smile against her jaw. “Gonna be so, so good when we get back here,” he growled.

“I know, baby. It will keep us strong and true tonight. I love you.”

He pulled back a bit. Raised her hand to his lips. Kissed her wedding ring.

“I love you, Dr. Mrs. Fraser.”

She smiled. “I love you, you idiot. Come on. The limo should be waiting.”

[lilacgaby]

03 | serenity

~1.5k

chapter select!

he came home with a stupid smile on his face that would not go away.

his every interaction with her would make him smile, she just made him so happy. for so many years just because of her presence in a book she made him smile, having her here now was unreal to him.

because of her, he showed off even more in class. he pushed himself even harder than before just to show off how cool he could be.

she had only been there for about two days now, but she was settling in so perfectly.

she fit right in with the girls, who had quickly realized that [name]'s life in 'serenity' was a sore subject that should be avoided. while [name] didn't have a quirk, because of her fresh perspective on the whole thing, she came up with helpful ideas to help not only the hero course, but general studies as well.

she caught up to the class fast in their academic studies as well, even though aizawa said she could've opted out, she seemed determined to fit in.

she was living up to her reputation in the manga perfectly, but overall she'd still hang with katsuki the most, which he couldn't lie: filled him with pride.

they were back in his dorm again today, playing a board game, the game of life. since nobody really knew who'd win until the end, it was a fun game to play.

"aw no! my babies don't even fit in the car! bye dog.."

"that's just fucked up."

"a mansion or a cabin! i'm picking the mansion, the fuck?"

"you can't afford it."

"...cabin it is."

"okay, i have to sing for you to get my bonus money so listen up.. ahem. okane kasegu, watashi wa sta--"

"stop and i'll pay you."

the game revealed a lot of things about the two of them. one, that katsuki, even though smart, was incredibly impulsive which would usually get the better of him. two, that megan thee stallion existed in serenity. three, that [name] was equally as impulsive, which would lead to her getting overwhelmed easily.

after counting up the money, [name] won. "thank god i won, did you see the amount of kids i had? i needed this win."

"yeah, child support would be beating your ass regardless. so, i think i got out of this the true winner."

"so cruel katsuki." she said, her hand over her heart.

"whatever. anyways, mr aizawa wanted us to go up to U-A again later. so prepare yourself for that."

"right!"

"[name].. can i ask you some shit? you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

she mulled it over. she had been avoiding talking about her world since she arrived, but she knew it'd have to happen eventually.

"yeah, go ahead."

"can you like.. see ghosts or something? because in the recent chapters-"

"yes i can." she cut him off before he sprang into his ramble.

"WHAT? the whole damn time? wow, you just spoiled it for me."

"you asked asshole! and yes i could since i started going to that school, i just never felt the need to mention it."

"can you see any ghosts here?"

"no."

katsuki let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and smiled in relief. "phew, i don't know what i'd do if some fuckfaced ghost was hanging around here."

"yeah, yeah. well, want a rematch?"

"oh you're in for it loser!"

after another successful win for [name] since she took the college route, she let katsuki clean up the game by himself, saying it was "a punishment fit for a loser."

they hung around until meeting aizawa at the appointed time.

they walked into the U-A classroom, this time nezu, allmight, and a couple lesser known heroes were in attendance.

"[name], bakugo, these are the heroes who are going to be on the lookout for that strange man from now on."

[name] bowed respectfully, and forced bakugo down into a bowing position too. "alright, let's begin then with what we know."

aizawa recapped what [name] and bakugo had accounted for that night, however, he had new details to share.

"we have done some digging on the villain, he's dubbed himself '2-D', and mostly commits petty crimes. the worst crime he committed was robbing a bank, where he was caught on camera controlling characters from a superhero comic to clear the way into a vault. if you'd all look at this footage here..."

aizawa played a video on the screen. it showed the same man who had attacked bakugo outside a bank. after a few minutes, he had thrown the book into the air and zapped it with his ability. the same poof that brought forth [name] was shown in the video, except something was different. the characters answered at his beck and call, destroying the quirk-proof glass and robbing the bank easily. the cover of the book was left blank as he used the characters to his will.

notably, once the robbery was finished, 2-D zapped them once again, and put them back into the book, as evident by the way the cover turned back to normal.

"now, this confirms something very important while also showing something quite confusing. 2-D seems to posses the ability to bring the characters back into whichever world he took them out of, which is great news for [name] here. however, why isn't [name] being controlled by 2-D?"

the heroes all looked around the room as they consulted eachother for their thoughts. however, none of them had clear answers or claims on what the cause could be.

"maybe it's because of the type of books he used? [name] is from a romance novel, she doesn't have a fighting ability." bakugo said.

the heroes pondered over it. "that seems like the most logical response for now. however, please all of you, keep a look out for 2-D, and bring them into custody alive and healthy. we need to get [name] home safely."

"thank you all, i apologize for all the trouble."

"no, no don't worry young [name]. we are heroes, this is what we're made for! ha ha ha!" all might said.

"ok.."

bakugo guided her out as they exited. "so, you happy? once they find that idiot you're out of here." he said, failing to hide his bitter  tone.

"well, no, i don't know what i feel now. being here, even for a short while, has been fun. and even when i do leave, ill miss you all. so, cheer up katsuki, it's not like im gone yet."

"right, you're still here." he said, grabbing onto her hand."

"mhm. and when i leave you'll probably be there right?"

"right."

"so, stop being a loser and cheer up! let's go get food together again though, i'm starved."

"right, did you like the place last time?"

"yes! aww, maybe we'll look like a real couple today too."

"cut it out!"

"come on katsuki, i know you like me, i saw all those figures--"

"please die." he said, letting go of her hand and storming off without her.

"wait, come back! i was half-joking! i'm sorry!"

they had eaten at the same spot as they did before, and even managed to get a free couple dessert. katsuki flushed at how embarrassing it was that they shared a heart shaped straw, but he secretly.. was enjoying it.

after they finished up there, he took [name] to the manga shop to show her just how popular she really was. posters, art books, pens, sketchbooks, pencil packs, and.. was that a body pillow? she was everywhere, it was as flattering as it was shocking.

"wow, i'm so famous, huh?"

"yep."

"why's there no books though?" she said, eyeing the empty shelves under the mountains of endless merch she had.

bakugo sighed. "they sell out quick."

"wow! i'm so cool!"

"don't let it get to your head." he said, flicking her forehead.

"ouch!"

when they finally left the store, they admired the sunset. they walked side by side down the path, this time [name] initiating the hand hold as they saw the view. but when she saw the glow of the sun sending its goodbyes, he saw her.

his hands moved before he could process it, softly cradling her face in between his pointer finger and thumb as he turned her gaze towards him.

"katsuki?"

"[name], i--"

he was cut off by his worst enemy. a love interest with such idiotic hair and an even worse personality type, as he ran up behind them and put a hand on [name]'s shoulders.

"[name]?"

bakugo released his gentle hold on her face as he glared holes in the guys head. as she turned, she finally realized who it was.

"...

shinto?"

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